


Kiss Me

by UtTaD



Series: Your Love Is All I Need, and It Holds Me Together [2]
Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Brothers, Brothers that can't stop arguing over shit all the time, Cutting, Depression, Ellie/Joel if you squint, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Horseback Riding, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Sobbing, Tommy and Maria are great, Why did ND have to split them up?, codependency like woah, meltdowns, protective Joel is the best Joel, why does everything with these two have to be so complicated?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25446040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtTaD/pseuds/UtTaD
Summary: Ellie goes for an afternoon ride and doesn't return; Joel worries.
Relationships: Dina & Jesse (The Last Of Us), Dina/Jesse (The Last of Us), Ellie & Joel (The Last of Us), Ellie/Joel (The Last of Us), Maria/Tommy (The Last of Us)
Series: Your Love Is All I Need, and It Holds Me Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/428821
Comments: 21
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I lied. I know. When I posted 'Everything I've Wanted to Say' it was supposed to be the last one. I swear. And well, it still is (sort of). It's certainly the final piece to the overall series, but what's to stop me from filling in some gaps? That's what this is. This is the first chapter of what will be a three-chapter fic (at least that's how I have it right now). This occurs a few months after 'Homecoming', in the summer of 2033.
> 
> A side note... this particular work was inspired by what Ashley Johnson said on some of the recent TLOU podcasts about Ellie's growth as a character and what's going through that girl's head throughout the story arc. Which, on that note, not to be a total sap but... I know you will never, ever read this, Ashley, but if for some strange, fucking reason you do, I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to you and Mr. Baker for bringing to life what have become my two, favorite fictional characters of all time. I've developed a very strong attachment to Joel and Ellie over the past seven years and love them dearly. And a big reason why is because of how incredibly talented you and Troy are when it comes to doing what you do. The quality in your portrayal of Ellie is matched only by Troy's in Joel. It's truly become the standard I compare to when evaluating all other fictional mediums. So, thank you for being amazing and just generally awesome.
> 
> Anyway, buckle up! Enjoy.

It's noon. The stables are just ahead. The neighs of horses and the crunch of dirt and gravel beneath her sneakers fill Ellie's ears. And there's this faint, ever-present buzzing in the trees from the insects that come out in force during the summer. It's like a quiet hum, unrelenting, a persistent reminder that it's August and that - oh yeah - it's hot as _fuck_. At least here in Jackson, Wyoming, it's the dry heat. Unlike Boston. And also unlike Boston, there's a cloud of dust inflating from the ground at her feet with every step.

Boston might as well be a different planet. One of those planets she's read about in her books. Boston was a concrete jungle. Boston was (Joel?)wet, sticky, gray, tar, rebar, asphalt and gasoline, and that unmistakable scent of body odor and garbage creeping into every corner of the city.

Jackson is different. Jackson is still so... _wild._ Jackson is (Joel?)dry, dirt, rock, wood, green, horses and livestock, and that unmistakable scent of fresh, mountain air blanketing every path through town. But _fuck I wish I owned a pair of shorts right now,_ because her jeans are sticking to her slender, sweaty legs in the late-summer heat.

They haven't been here all that long, not even half a year at this point, and still haven't completely settled in. Simple things like getting clothing and food isn't routine yet. Her wardrobe still consists mostly of what she arrived with. At least she can wear her one-and-only tank-top on days like today. And every time she puts it on _he_ always reminds her to wrap that forearm of hers in a bandage to cover up the scar...

She reaches a hand down her leg, tries to grab ahold of the denim fabric clinging to it and peel it away from her sticky skin. And when she does, she lets out a sound of momentary relief as a pocket of air wedges between her thigh and the pant leg; a subtle, but _so_ fucking satisfying reprieve it tickles her to the bone. Yet there's this look of disgust on her face too because _I fucking hate the feeling of jeans on hot days._

_Note to self: ask Joel where I can find shorts._

She even had to wear jeans during her first swimming lessons with Joel. Which, of course, they did almost immediately after arriving. He got word from Tommy of a pond about a mile west of the compound. He tried to make it a surprise and all, but she _did_ kind of have a feeling as to where they were headed. Regardless, it was a nice way to ease into the transition from on-the-road-with-Joel to in-Jackson-with-the-crowd, departing the masses and opting for simply the pair of them instead.

She smiles at the memory, eyes looking onto the entrance of the stables ahead. In that moment it was just them, no one else. And in the weirdest of ways she still liked it to be that way despite being in Jackson with new faces to see and people to meet. Perhaps (no, not perhaps, definitely) it was because that's what she was used to. That's what she knew. _That_ was home. Joel.

Though in a few moments her smile wanes as she approaches the barn. It falls down her cheeks until there's not a trace of it left. Because despite that fond memory of flailing-about in the water with _him_ there to teach her how to flail, today is one of _those_ days.

Those days when the collateral damage left in the wake of their journey weighs on her small, bony shoulders. A day when she wakes up in the morning groggy from too little sleep because of an unending string of nightmares. A day when she eventually _has_ to peel herself out of bed because he left at dawn to get a head start on the day and if she doesn't do it she'll be there until he comes home. And when she finally heads to the kitchen to eat, she _can't,_ because there's this sick, anxious feeling in her gut that has her questioning what the fucking purpose in her life is now. Everything seems utterly pointless and trivial when compared side-by-side with the monumental task of being humanity's savior and last, final hope. That was their mission. That was the driving force behind every decision they made for an entire year. And now in the blink of an eye, just like that, it's gone. What's left? Why is she still even here? How can she be alive but so _dead_ at the same time? _Why did I get to live and others didn't?_ And what the fuck can she do to _feel_ anything anymore?

She heaves a guilt-stricken sigh, her little frame seeming to bow under the weight of the world. And she glances down, eyes meeting the top of her sneakers and tapered end of her jeans, notices the thick layer of dust caked onto them. Thinks she could drag a finger through it and lick it off as if it were cocoa powder. Knows there's probably a thin layer of it on her arms and face, too, and _I should've showered yesterday because now I'm extra gross..._

When she arrives at the barn she's eager to step inside, the roof providing shade and a much-needed relief from the brutal sun that had been cooking her alive in those jeans.

She stops, takes a moment to relish the cooler air. She tightens her hairband and adjusts her ponytail, thumbs re-hooking themselves around the shoulder straps of her backpack when she's done. She cans the interior, realizing there aren't many industrial-sized floor fans in Jackson, but Maria _always_ keeps one in the stables during the summer. Always has it on full-blast, too, as it is now. The roar of the fan and the smell of hay, dust and horses is starting to become familiar, something she can latch onto. Because if there's one place in Jackson she's been more than their new home, it's the stables, often enjoying a ride on Shimmer while Joel's out working with Tommy and thus leaving her... alone. She has her own tasks to do and jobs to fulfill, but her free-time comes in much more ample quantities than him. He still won't let her go on patrol. Not yet, anyway.

Maria is further inside, swapping notecards written with the names of Jackson residents on and off the patrol board. She too is wearing jeans, but also one of Tommy's old, plaid shirts, sleeves rolled up by her elbows.

"How the hell are you comfortable in that?" Ellie says, catching Maria's attention as the woman shoots her a glance over a shoulder. And there's a subtle, pointed-edge in her voice that seems to catch her off-guard.

Maria pins up another name onto the board, thumbtack pinched between thumb and finger as she presses it into the cork. "I told you," she says before turning around. "This is my stables shirt."

"Yeah but aren't you, like... baking in it? Do you _know_ what the temperature is right now?" Ellie chides.

Maria chuckles, slides both hands into her pockets and shrugs. "Guess I'm used to it."

Ellie exhales with a raspberry, sounding just about defeated by the pummeling heat. "Wish I was too," she says, making her way over to stand beside the woman.

Maria clears her throat, can't help but raise an eyebrow at the young girl. "Everything okay Ellie?" she asks. And for some reason she _always_ has a caring, sincerity in her voice that burrows underneath her outer, hardened shell. Like Joel.

"Yeah. Everything's fine," Ellie answers softly, a tone that clearly doesn't have Maria convinced.

She looks over the board, noting Joel's and Tommy's names under the orange notecard that reads 'Teton County' and clears her throat. "Do you mind if I take Shimmer for a ride?" she asks, hoping to pivot the conversation in a direction that won't lead to further prying.

"Not at all. She's yours for the afternoon. Just bring her back by sunset," Maria responds with a wink, knowing full well if she's not back _sooner_ than that the girl is gonna have a much bigger, Miller-sized problem on her hands.

"Yeah, of course," Ellie says with a subtle nod. "Thanks." And within seconds she's making her way to Shimmer's stall at the opposite end of the barn.

The horse cuts loose a neigh, drawing her attention down the aisle of stalls to Shimmer's on the end. And trotting down that aisle, through a beaten down trail of hay and dirt, is Dina and Jesse, hand-in-hand. At least _they're_ both in shorts and a t-shirt. At least _they_ seem to understand how fucking hot it is right now.

Dina's hair is up, in what looks to be the remains of a ponytail, the long, dark locks some tangled, half-wet-half-dry frizzy mess from whatever expedition the two of them returned from. Jesse's shorts look damp, shirt soaked, his hair all matted down but mostly dry from the brief sun exposure they must have had on the way back.

_Guess they went swimming. Damn that sounds good right now..._

"Hey Ellie!" Dina says, sounding a bit _too_ excited.

It has Ellie blushing a bit, because the mere idea of connecting with anyone beyond Joel became some non-existent, abstract thought for the last year. But if she can even call anyone _friends_ at this point, it's these two.

"Oh..." Ellie responds, a timidity in her voice that rarely unearths itself. _Of all the times for them to see me, why the fuck does it have to be now?_ She gnaws at her lip, pausing until she realizes it's nearing the point of awkward. "Dina, Jesse," she finally says.

"You alright?" Jesse asks, eyebrow arching.

"Yeah, fine," she lies with a nod.

Dina gives her a skeptical look. "You sure?" she pries.

"Mmhm, yep. Just..." Ellie says, pausing for a deep breath that borders on a sigh. "Hot as balls."

Dina cuts loose an empathetic groan. "Fuck I know." Her eyes glance up to Jesse. "We went for a swim. I shoved his ass in," she says through a laugh.

"Figured," Ellie says. "What with you two looking wet and all."

Jesse just shrugs, makes a face like he's okay with his girlfriend pushing him into the cold water.

Dina smiles at Ellie, all big and bright. "We're going again tomorrow, wanna come?"

Ellie makes a face like she's _thinking,_ freckled nose scrunching some because _can I swim without him yet?_ And she reaches a hand up to her hair, scratches at her scalp then tugs on that mind-of-its-own ponytail for a second because she's not sure how to answer. "I dunno, maybe," she finally admits. Swimming without Joel is still something a bit unnerving. If there's _one_ thing the pint-sized redhead is lacking confidence in, it's her ability to keep herself alive in water.

Dina pulls in a breath, adjusts her posture, hand and fingers woven with Jesse's. "Suit yourself. We'll be going again, same time tomorrow," she says. "Anyway, where're you off to now? Going for a ride?"

Ellie glances past her, sees Tommy of all people, tending to Shimmer's stall. _Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? Tommy too? What is this shit? Is the universe telling me to stop and turn around? And wait... does that mean Joel's home? Did they finish early?_

"Ellie?" Dina presses, head tiling as if to plant herself dead-smack in the middle of Ellie's gaze.

"Huh? Oh, right uhh... " Ellie drawls.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Dina pries again, that tone of hers filling with a bit more concern.

Ellie wipes the base of her nose with a wrist, the sweat from her arm coagulating in a patch of dirt and dust when she does it. "Yeah, sorry. I'm fine," she says. _No you're not._ "Really, I am. Just gonna ride with Shimmer for a while." _Doubling down, huh? Who'd you learn that from?_

"Babe," Jesse softly says to Dina, so as not to totally interrupt but... yeah, definitely to interrupt. "I'm hungry. Haven't eaten since six this morning. Let's go."

Dina's gaze pulls away from Ellie, transitions to her boyfriend. "Right, you need to eat." And within seconds they're making their way out the barn, Jesse already tugging her along.

But before they take even a few steps, she twirls around, walking backwards as her eyes meet Ellie's, hand still in Jesse's. "We're gonna watch a movie tonight. You should come!" she says, voice rising with each step they take.

"Yeah, maybe," Ellie answers. _If I even make it till then._

She turns, continues down the aisle of stalls toward Shimmer's and is immediately reminded of her next roadblock. _Right, Tommy. Man fuck today. Today is stupid._

She approaches, leans against the post adjacent to the swing-gate, sees Tommy kneeling beside Shimmer's two front hoofs. It looks like he's tending to one of her horseshoes. And what do you know, _he's_ wearing jeans too. _What the fuck is it with these two? How are they not dying in this heat?_

Shimmer lets out a whinny, one of her rear legs twitching, bordering on a kick, as it flings some hay across the stall. "Woah there, easy girl," Tommy says in that southern accent she's come to grow so fond of. Well, more Joel's than Tommy's, but it's close enough.

"Looks like she's itching for a ride," Ellie says, a subtle grin taking shape across her lips, because if there really is one thing she wants to do right now, it's that.

Tommy quickly glances over a shoulder to acknowledge her before returning his attention to Shimmer's hoof, grimacing as he applies some force to the horseshoe. "Afternoon Ellie," he says before letting out a grunt as he finally presses a nail into it.

He stands up, wipes his brow then reaches for a nearby rag hanging over the edge of Shimmer's water trough. "One of her nails came a little loose. Thought I could fix it without the hammer. Anyway, good enough," he says, thoroughly wiping his hands in the cloth. "What you doin' out here?"

She crosses her arms, shrugs. "Just wanted to go for a ride," she says, already sounding quite fed-up with everyone seemingly questioning her at every turn. It's like they _know..._

"I see," he says, glancing at Shimmer's rump and giving it a gentle pat. "Alright then. Well, she's all yours."

"Fuck yes," she says, trying to sound _somewhat_ excited in hopes it'll get Tommy off her tail so he wont ask further questions.

And it seems to work, because he just smiles and nods, and is already making his way out the stall, side-stepping past her as she approaches the horse. But it only takes a second before she can't hear the crunch of hay beneath his boots as he comes to a stop and does a one-eighty.

_Fuck._

"We finished up early today. You want Joel to come along?" he asks.

She shoots him a glance, arms already reaching up to Shimmer's saddle. And she exhales, slowly, sounding _exhausted_ as hell. "No, it's okay," she eventually responds. "He's probably tired anyway." _You're on a roll today._ How many lies can she tell in the span of one afternoon? _Of course_ there's a part of her that wants him to be here with her, like always. But not right now, because he's the only one who could stop her...

Tommy scoffs at that. At the idea that his brother would _ever_ say "no" to anything that would make this girl smile. But the look she's giving him lets him know he better hush-up. So he goes quiet for a second, folds his arms and leans a shoulder against one of the support beams of the barn near Shimmer's stall.

"C'mon kiddo. You know he ain't gonna say no."

"Well _I'm_ saying no," Ellie states, giving him a glare.

Silence. Nothing but the roar of that industrial-sized fan. And she knows she just played too much of her hand. So she pulls in another breath, tries to keep it all under wraps, knows she can't let _that_ tone slip through the cracks again. But it's too late, because the younger Miller is already taking a few steps closer to her.

"Hey now," he says, concern in his voice. "Everything alright?"

"Why the fuck does everyone keep asking me that?" she sneers, arms unfurling in his direction. She refolds them then rocks back onto a foot, as if she's retreating and encasing herself in whatever personal, safe space she has left. "I just..." she pauses, glances down at her dirt-encrusted sneakers again, letting out a sigh before her eyes climb their way back to Tommy's. "I'd rather ride alone today."

Alone? _That_ seems to get Tommy to fidget a bit, because suddenly it's obvious she's not okay. And what's even more troubling is it's obvious his older brother sure as hell isn't aware of whatever she's about to go off and do. All day while they were working on the wall, mending the barbed wire, patching-up the damage from the last bandit raid, he never once mentioned any kind of _mood_ coming from her. In fact, it was the opposite. When the topic of Ellie _did_ come up (which of course was like, every ten minutes, at least it felt that way to Tommy) Joel would say how well things were going, how proud of her the people of Jackson were becoming and how wonderful it was to see her blossoming in their new home. So much for that.

So he takes another step into the stall, clears his throat. "Hang on, Joel doesn't - " he starts, only to be interrupted by a boisterous neigh from Shimmer, the horse kicking up more hay at their feet. "Woah there girl, easy," he says, patting her on the rump again.

When his eyes return to Ellie, she's motionless, looking at him expectantly. And he _swears_ he can see a subtle sense of despair in those greenish-blue orbs of hers. Ever since her and Joel returned from Utah, there's been a deeply embedded sorrow behind those eyes. Joel's too. Both him and his wife notice it each time they see the two, poor, damaged souls. But they never mention it. Tommy _knows_ better.

He takes a second to rub his brow, wincing a bit because he's pretty sure what he's about to say will be the final straw. "He doesn't know you're out here? Has no clue what you're up to?"

She goes quiet, stiff, the gears in that auburn-haired noodle of hers obviously grinding away. _Should I tell him the truth? Or lie?_

Tommy makes a gesture, eyes widening some as he just looks at her, as if to say _and?_

She exhales, slowly. "No," she says. "He doesn't."

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose. "God dammit," he mutters to himself.

His head drops, eyes looking toward the dirt as he mutters some half-hearted prayer under a breath. Because he knows if Joel _really_ doesn't know, then he's the one on the hook now. If anything happens to her, it's on him. And if there's one thing left in the world he's still afraid of, it's his brother with a lost, missing, wounded, or worse, Ellie on his hands.

He pulls his head up, looks her in the eyes. "Why don't I at least just let him know where you're headed off too, that way - "

"Oh my god," she groans. "What is the big fucking deal? All I want to do is go for a ride. Is that so much to ask? What the hell is it with everyone today?"

Tommy clenches his teeth and wipes a hand down his face, fighting the inner frustration bubbling to the surface because he knows she's already made up her mind. And despite the roar of that fan, he quickly turns his head, shoots a cursory glance over a shoulder like he's worried someone might hear him.

"Look," he says, taking another step closer, voice lowering some. "You have no _idea_ what you're gettin' into here," he continues with a forceful whisper, but _fuck_ does it come out stern.

"What are you talking about?" she splutters.

He glances over a shoulder again, still sees Maria working away at the patrol board, pinning up more notecards. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles under a breath, fingers digging into his brow because he's not sure how to proceed.

He sets himself straight and clears his throat, voice doing that stern-whisper thing again. "Look, Joel is..." he pauses, hesitating, knowing whatever he says to this girl will eventually find its way back to his brother's ears.

Ellie unfolds her arms, gives him a look of _spit it out stupid._ "What? He's what?" she asks.

"He's _really_ fuckin' weird about this kinda stuff."

"What stuff?"

"About you runnin' off without him knowin' where the hell you are."

"It's not like I'm leaving for the whole day, I'll be back in a few hours," she says in defense. "Besides, you two usually don't finish for the day until later anyway. He knows I do my own shit while he's gone."

"Alright, an' what's he gonna do when it's past four-o'clock an' you ain't home yet?"

She pauses, bites at her lip and thinks. _Will he freak out if I'm gone for that long? He won't, right? I don't want him to worry._ And _fuck_ does that have her insides tightening, like a reaction to a knife poking her in the gut, because keeping him at an arm's distance for any reason is some kind of torment all on its own.

When she's taken too long to respond, Tommy keeps at it. "Look, y'all ain't been off the road long enough. I swear he thinks the two of you are footin' it across the country still."

"So?"

"So," Tommy says, sounding exasperated. "He's gonna lose his shit when I tell him I don't know where you went and that you're gonna be gone until sunset."

"No he won't," she says, sounding quite confident in her response. "I've come home late before." _It will be fine, right? He'll be okay..._

"Ellie, reckon you know him better than I do now, but believe me when I say you're draggin' _all_ of us into a puddle we ain't got the boots for."

Fuck yeah she knows him better than Tommy. Better than _anyone_ does for that matter. And if there's an organism left on this planet that has the ability to ~~control~~ guide the moral compass of that emotionally damaged man, it's her.

"Dude, _relax_ ," she implores. "He will be fine. Trust me."

He doesn't look convinced, just stares at her with an expression that seems to almost beg her not to leave. And when he doesn't say anything for a few seconds, she thinks that's her cue to stick her foot in a stirrup and climb onto Shimmer.

"Hang on, wait, wait..." he finally says.

She stops halfway up, one foot in a stirrup, eyes meeting his. Stubborn little thing she is. The harder he fights her the more it makes her want to see it through...

"Yes?" she asks.

He uncorks an exhale, eyes glancing to the small mound of dirt and hay at his feet. It's obvious he's at odds with the whole thing. "God dammit," he mutters again. "Promise me you'll be fuckin' careful, alright?"

"I will!" she sneers. "Jeez..."

"An' what about Maria? She knows you're here too."

She doesn't answer immediately, just finishes mounting Shimmer then sniffles and wipes her nose again with a sweaty arm. It takes a second, but her head hangs some as she sighs because _you know he's gonna come looking for you if you're even a second late coming home. And Maria and Tommy are gonna pay for it. Don't fuck this up._

"Talk to her. Please?" she asks, eyes wilting, because at this point she _knows_ she needs Tommy's help with this one.

"Fine," he spits. "Now get the hell outta here before I drag your tiny ass off that horse."

"Pssht - you wouldn't," she says with a smirk, knowing full well his older brother would have more than just a word with him if he were to do it.

She grabs ahold of the reins and clicks her tongue, legs giving the horse a gentle squeeze so as to kick it into gear. "Let's go girl."

* * *

"Faster girl. C'mon, faster, faster, _faster_ ," Ellie implores, legs squeezing around Shimmer with each command. And before she knows it she's a fucking jockey chewing up furlong after furlong as if she were on a racetrack, the animal giving her its _all_.

The wind is blowing through her hair, her eyes watering from its impact. The hot, summer air is brushing over her sweaty arms and face. Shimmer is wheezing, snorting and panting, the sounds of a horse galloping in overdrive. And there's a rapid beat from her hooves providing a rhythmic backdrop as they _fly_ through a narrow valley. And Ellie is smiling and suddenly _laughing_ with joy and the whole thing has adrenaline trickling into her veins and _shit_ does it feel good. She almost feels... _alive_.

"Fuck! YES!" she screams, squatting just above the saddle, both feet in the stirrups as she leans forward.

She can see the tree-line of the forest about a quarter-mile ahead, knows she needs to slow down. But not yet. She's going to enjoy this, down to the last drop. Feeling alive these days is difficult, but _man_ does this get her close. It has her heart pounding, the threat of danger lurking with each of Shimmer's strides, knowing she could be flung from the saddle and crack her head open at any moment. The speed is scary. Even a little terrifying maybe. But it feels _good._ Some days she's okay. Some days that anxiety, that sorrow, that _monster_ lurking over her shoulder lets her be. Other days it doesn't. And there's only a small handful of things that send it retreating back to whatever dark place it resides...

 _Joel would be worried sick if he saw me doing this._ And whether she knows it or not, _that_ gets her to slow down. Gets her to tug the reins and give a "woah, woah" to the horse that sounds just about spent.

They come to a stop, right at the forest's edge, a road covered in overgrowth winding through the trees just ahead.

She pats Shimmer on the neck, runs her fingers through her mane. "Way to go girl. That was fucking awesome, wasn't it?"

Of course the animal doesn't respond.

"Yeah it was," she says softly, hand still giving the horse a gentle pet.

She clicks her tongue. "Let's go," she commands. And Shimmer restarts a calm, easy trot up the overgrown road into the forest.

She's not sure why she wants to go _there_ again, but she has to. Maybe it's to read that girl's diary once more. Maybe it's to relive that late afternoon. Maybe it's to feel something more. Something else. She doesn't quite know. Regardless, she's now lost in her head, each step along the way reminding her that _oh yeah_ she's been here before. That a little under a year ago, she scampered along this trail on a different horse when she thought _he_ was going to leave her just like everyone else.

She's up the road, then through a tunnel. Minutes later she's weaving through the trees and has Shimmer leaping over a log along a narrow path in the forest. Then down she goes into a ravine, climbing a hill with dilapidated shacks on either side, only to find herself navigating through more maze-like twists and turns through the trees. And eventually, she emerges atop another hill with _that_ ranch house down below.

Her next breath catches in her throat. She pulls on the reins. Shimmer stops, obeys without the need of a verbal cue, and lets out a whinny, tail flapping about. The air is _still,_ calm as fuck, that hot, late-summer sun beating down on her. She swallows hard. _There it is. Everything changed in that house._

Yeah, everything did change in that house. Everything - her and him - became fucking _real._

Another click of the tongue. Another squeeze of her legs around Shimmer's torso. And they're trotting down the hill, jumping over a gate and coming to a stop at the front porch.

She hops off and ties-up Shimmer's reins on the railing of the fence fronting the porch, its paint even more scuffed and shaved away than it was a year ago.

She pets Shimmer's neck, lets her hand glide along it as she walks up the steps. "I'll be back in a bit," she says. And it comes out like an assurance of some sorts. But she's not sure if it's for the horse, or her...

When her hand reaches the doorknob, it quivers. She slaps at it with the other, tries to tame the damn thing and keep it in line. "Fuck. Stop it Ellie," she says. "You can do this."

She takes a deep breath, turns the knob, then pushes the door open. It creaks, hinges groaning, all old, unkept and slow. And when she steps inside her eyes immediately run along the hall-length rug, end-to-end, noting the skeletal remains of three bodies marring its surface. There's a large, brownish-red stain of dried blood embedded in it, too, near the stairwell. And all of a sudden she can fucking _hear_ those gunshots again. Gunshots that were immediately followed by screams, then followed by nothing but silence _._ It has her hair standing on end, a shiver crawling up the back of her neck as she slowly makes her way down the hall to (re)take it all in. It's quiet. _Eerily_ quiet. But for some reason those three gunshots are now playing in her head on an infinite loop. And as she approaches the stairwell, she notices one of the skeletons' skulls is separated from its spinal column. The damn thing is a few feet to the right, mostly shattered to bits and mixed with buckshot up against one of the baseboards.

She winces, _shit Joel._ But in the sickest of ways it has her gut tingling with that unexplainable combination of guilt and feeling protected, because _fuck_ does it remind her of what lengths he's willing to go to keep her safe. And as she climbs the stairs it has her mind wandering, returning to an all-too common thought she has more often than she'd like. What must their enemies have thought of them during their year-long journey across the country? What did they see in their final, dying moments when her and Joel put a stop to their existence? She tries to imagine, tries to _visualize_ what it was like through the eyes of a dying Hunter, Bandit or some other asshole lying on the ground bleeding out. What it was like to know the reaper, disguised as a young girl and an old man, _just_ paid you a visit and now you're moments from death. And in your final, waning seconds of life, you're watching the silhouette of _that_ girl with a rifle practically as long as she is tall and _that_ burly, dark-haired man with a revolver walking off into the sunset. You're wishing you could at least warn those closest to you of what's headed their way because _holy hell_ do they have no idea of the unstoppable freight train about to hit them. It's as if you'd just been slaughtered by a highly trained, brutally efficient death-squad ready to gut anything in its path. Only, it's no death squad. It's just the oddest of duos: an old, calculating, fiercely protective man and a small, innocent looking, eager-to-contribute girl with an auburn ponytail at his side. A crazy man traveling with a little girl...

And suddenly that grotesque monster's voice finds a way to burrow into her brain again as she reaches the top of the steps. _Thatta girl Ellie. You know you keep surprising me. You can try beggin'..._

She shivers, goosebumps popping up across her skin despite the summer temperature. "Sick fuck," she softly spits to herself. But _man_ if there's a single thought that reminds her of how hard they had to fight to get to Utah, it's the thought of that pedophilic cannibal.

She gulps, tries to push David's voice out of her head. But the fucker sure has a knack for hooking into her and not letting go no matter how hard she tries. And as if on cue, a shiver slithers up her spine. So she comes to a stop, closes both eyes and takes another deep breath, _instinctually_ thinking of the one thing that always gives her comfort in moments like this. The one thing that reminds her what it's like to be vulnerable and still be... okay. Joel.

Her eyes pop open, and they're greeted by two more skeletons in the hallway leading to the bedroom at the end. One is fully intact with ratty clothes clinging to its bones. The other is partially sitting up against the wall, slumped over with an arrow piercing through one of its vertebrae. The body of the arrow is stained with a brownish-red from the blood of the human being the skeleton once belonged to. More remnants of his handiwork...

When she reaches the room she taps the door open with her shoe, giving it a gentle kick forward. The diary is on the bench adjacent to the window, exactly where she left it a little under a year ago. And in seconds her insides are filling with dread because _all_ of those feelings from that conversation are coming back to her. She remembers thinking that, perhaps, just maybe, he was there to stay with her to see it through to the end. Yet all the while that nagging, quiet voice of doubt kept whispering to her that yeah, he was going to leave her too. Just like everyone else. But _fuck_ was she hopeful.

And when she shuffles over to the bench, slinks down against it as she plops onto the floor, all she can think about is their conversation in this room. How it flooded her with that overwhelming sense of rejection that had her nearly drowning in that all-too-familiar feeling of abandonment. And she remembers feeling so dejected, that in the minutes following that, the gunshots and screams from downstairs as her and Tommy waited for the all-clear were nothing but background noise as she tried to piece herself back together and quickly come to terms with him leaving her. What other choice did she have?

She feels her eyes start to water, her nose beginning to clog. So she sniffles, wipes the base of it with a sweaty wrist once again, and has to remind herself that as fucking _shitty_ as that moment was, the one that followed while the three of them were on a cliff overlooking Jackson when he changed is mind was something... else.

A teary-eyed smile engulfs her face, because reliving it has that stupid butterfly thing happening in her gut again. Because in that moment, when she climbed up onto his horse and gave him that _look_ as he talked to Tommy, she knew he was there to stay. For good. He wasn't going to let her end up alone.

She chuckles to herself, because _I was so fucking happy in that moment I could've wrapped my arms around him and not let go until he told me to._

A hand reaches up and scratches at her cheek as she reminisces, her gaze lost in the cracks in the wall across the room as she wonders _what_ changed his mind. It's a thought she's had more than once, and there have been a few times she's come _this_ close to asking him about it. She never does, though. Regardless, it does remind her that because he did change his mind, _everything_ else changed along with it. He stayed with her until the end. And whether he knows it or not, he signed himself up for even more than that. But she knows he's okay with whatever that entails...

Yet once again that feeling of emptiness is filling her, that big smile falling to nothing but a bulged-out lower lip and pout, because that _end_ was supposed to be it. Only, it wasn't at all. It was all for nothing. And suddenly that anxious, sick feeling is sending the butterflies in her stomach flying away because what the fuck is the point of her life now? What's her purpose and why should she even get out of bed in the morning? Is she actually alive? Or is she dead and merely floating through each day as they come? How can she tell?

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her switchblade, flipping the blade free from its holster. She holds it in her left hand, which starts to shake as she examines the scar on her right forearm. And if he's not here to stop her...

She stares at it, the scar, and hesitates. The blade of her knife is hovering inches above it. She swallows hard and clenches her hand into a fist, seeing the tendons and veins swell a bit under the surface of her pale skin.

"Fuck it," she says under a breath.

She presses the tip of the blade into her scar, teeth clenching as she lets out what can only be described as a hiss as she sucks in an inhale. And when the immediate pain is no longer a shock, but rather something she can handle, tame and _control,_ her jaw gradually opens, "holy sh-shit," eyes locking onto the bright red fluid leaking from her forearm.

She lifts it, hand and fingers pointed to the ceiling, watches the blood dribble down. It free-falls into the bend of her elbow, filling the creases in her skin like water inevitably finding its way through a series of narrow ravines. She reaches over with her pinky, switchblade still clutched in her hand, and drags it through the trail, collecting a big glob of the red fluid on its tip. She inspects it, takes in the feel of it outside her skin as opposed to within, examines the look of its color and how it glistens just a smidgen in the late afternoon sun beaming through the window behind her. It reminds her of the strange dichotomy that's plagued her since they returned to Jackson. She's special. But _not_ special enough...

Tears that were pooling at the base of her eyes finally break free and fall over her eyelids, rolling down her cheeks. She throws her head back, bangs it against the wall behind her, again and again, until she stops and screams "FUCK!"

She whimpers and squeezes her eyes shut, the poor thing melting into some melancholy, soup-like mixture of blood and tears. And as it all hits her, her insides tighten and the next few breaths come out quick and heavy and everything is so meaningless and fucking pointless because now what the fuck is she supposed to do with this _thing_ she once thought was a gift and all of a sudden the edge of her blade is finding its way back to her scar again...

A cut. Then another cut. Then another. One down. One up. One across. Deep, too. Too deep, in fact, because the sudden loss of blood and change in blood pressure has her feeling dizzy as _fuck_ through her sorrow.

Unable to keep herself sitting up straight, she slumps to one side, as if the floor itself is yanking her down with rope. "Ohh... sh-shit..." she mutters under an exhale.

And when she hits the floor, unable to find the (will?)energy to pick herself back up, her brain fires off a seemingly random memory. It's her and Joel. They've just returned to Jackson and are standing atop a cliff overlooking the entire compound. And in that deep voice of his that somehow always provides a familiar sense of comfort, he's telling her that _no matter what, you keep findin' somethin' to fight for._

She goes quiet. Still. Almost _lifeless._ The only motion from her small frame is the blinking of her eyes as they get lost in the worn, scuffed nature of the door to the room. Then the smallest of peeps, a simple utterance of what almost sounds like a prayer leaves her lips. "Joel."

When it's obvious the only response she gets is the deafening silence in the house, she cries out again. "Joel!"

Nothing.

"Joel, where are you!?" she shouts, as much she can in her current state. But it doesn't come out all _that_ loud because merely speaking right now is fucking difficult.

More nothing. More silence.

"Joel!" she begs, ending with a whimper, face pressing against the floorboards.

Once again, nothing. Nothing as her vision blurs and eventually goes black. Nothing but a hallow ranch house, the skeletons of five bodies and a girl who got stretched, twisted and contorted by the world until she couldn't anymore and simply broke.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Here's chapter two. Took me a bit until I felt like it was where I wanted, but here it is.
> 
> On another note, I've had a few people ask me if this takes place in the 'Their Purpose' universe. And the answer is simply no. It does not. Everything in the 'Your Love is All I Need, and It Holds Me Together' (this, along with Homecoming, Demons, Speak to Me, Gifts and Everything I've Wanted to Say) series is its own, self-contained work. It does not intersect with anything else I've written. There are quite a few reasons as to why; themes, emotional feel, writing quality etc. But I won't get into it here. I will say, however, the observant reader may notice the narration in the 'Their Purpose' universe is primarily written in the past-tense. Whereas in these, the narration is in the present-tense. I've actually found I really enjoy writing in the present-tense much more than the past. It was a bit challenging at first, but at this point it's more natural to me. And it makes it feel more... urgent, and real, like it's happening right then and there as you read it. Just my two cents. Anyway, enjoy, and as always, thank you so much for reading!

Joel lumbers up the steps to the walkway leading toward their house, a hand on a railing to help tow his weight. He trudges along the short path to the porch and eyes the front door, more than ready to escape the sun. It's brutally hot, his shirt drenched in sweat, beads of the stuff still percolating across his brow.

When he steps inside the rush of cool air hitting his sweaty, dirt-encrusted arms and face feels divine and reminds him of his afternoon plans. "Finished up early today Kiddo!" he shouts as he enters, shutting the door behind him. "Reckon it's hot as hell today. Up for a swim!?"

Nobody, nothing gives him a response. There's no muffled "I'm upstairs!" coming from the second floor. No "hey you" from a girl bounding down the steps to acknowledge his return. There's nothing but the wall-softened sound of chatter from people going for a stroll outside.

He's halfway through taking off his backpack before he halts, a strap of it still gripped in a hand because the realization she hasn't given him a response is jarring enough to interrupt something as simple as sliding it off to the floor. He waits, eyes gradually scanning the room, ears perked-up as he listens for anything resembling Ellie. When he again gets nothing in return, he exhales. The breath comes out slow and somewhat cautious, since the silence in the house does have him a _tad_ worried.

"Ellie!" he shouts. "You decent!?"

He waits for an answer, head tilting towards the stairs a bit as he tries to hear _anything,_ even the slightest of peeps that'll let him know she's here.

Silence.

So he sighs, worn-out from his long morning of work with Tommy and _she probably just has her headphones in._ He reaches a hand up and wipes his face, feels the sweat pool on his fingertips. "Jesus," he mutters to himself upon seeing the dirt, grease and grime on his hand. And this time with both hands, he wipes his face again, vigorously rubbing his chin, brow, nose, cheeks and beard as he gives himself some sort of half-assed cleanup job post Jackson duties on a hot, summer day. The pond and its cold water call to him again and _I'm gonna drag her to that damn thing whether she likes it or not._

He stretches out both arms, yawns, then nonchalantly struts to the kitchen, notices the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. And when he sees it he lets out a quiet grunt, sounding semi-displeased because they do sort of have a deal. Whichever one of them cooks, the other does the dishes. And last night was his turn to play the role of chef.

Usually when he comes home and it's her day to be on cleanup duty, the sink is empty, all the dishes placed on the drying rack in some sort of organized chaos. Though it's obvious she waits until the last minute to do the deed, because she leaves behind a trail of evidence, what with all the little puddles of water on the countertop and soapy bubbles still in the sink that aren't dry yet.

But not this time. He doesn't even find that. Just a big, greasy mess of utensils, pots, pans and dishes strewn about.

He picks up a skillet by its handle, examines the surface, notices the browned, encrusted bits of butter stuck on its pan. He tries to scrape some off with a thumbnail, but it's no use. "Alright then," he says under an exhale before tossing it back into the sink. "No dishes either."

"Ellie!" he shouts, louder than before, voice booming up the stairs. "You alive up there!?"

_Don't joke about that..._

He pauses, waiting a few seconds for a response.

Again, nothing. Maybe she doesn't have her headphones in. Maybe it's worse. Maybe she's still in bed. It wouldn't be the first time. Her immunity, though a blessing, does come at a cost. It's hard on that little body of hers and sometimes has her exhausted to the point she could sleep until late into the afternoon. That's not even considering the taxing nature of the grueling, year-long journey they endured that he thinks will have them tired and running-on-fumes until the end of their days. Without the constant push of that mission, there have been a few occasions when she's done nothing but resign herself to the mattress, blanket, sheets and pillows for hours...

The first time it happened he was concerned as _hell._ He lowered himself down, sitting on the bed beside her, dipping an ear just above her mouth to make sure he could hear the next gentle breath leave her lips; there was(still is?) a part of him paranoid the world was going to rip her away at any moment. Then he softly rubbed her shoulder and arm until her eyes fluttered open, to be absolutely sure she was okay. And she looked up at him all semi-surprised and groggy as her brain tried to wire itself back together, asked him what time it was, since she sure as hell didn't remember him peeling her arm off him before he slinked away earlier in the morning. He told her, bluntly. Sometimes it was eleven. Sometimes noon. But _that_ time it was two _._ Then she rubbed her eyes and let out a "fuck", which he brushed-aside with an immediate "you feelin' okay?" in that concerned tone that escapes him only in moments when he's worried about her. At which point she peeled her torso off the mattress, propped herself up with two hands planted against it and said "sorry, I don't know why I'm so fucking tired." He then reassured her it was okay, told her not to be sorry because _dammit_ she had nothing to be sorry for...

And that memory has him immediately climbing the stairs. When he approaches her room he slows his gait, thinks he can surprise her and give her a scare if she _does_ have her headphones in. He reaches both hands up, grabs the top of the doorframe to hold himself as he lets his weight fall forward, _expecting_ to see her sitting at her desk, listening to her walkman and doodling-up a sketch.

Nope.

Her bed is neatly made, the comforter pulled taught with two pillows placed atop it at the headboard all orderly-like. But that's not much of a shock, because it isn't all that surprising. Some nights - well, most if he's being honest with himself - she opts to crawl into his instead. _That_ habit is going to be tough to shake and he knows it, the two of them having spent the last year forced to find small, safe places to rest for the night. Sleeping adjacent wasn't much of a choice, but rather a requirement. Only, now that it's no longer a requirement but rather a choice, it's somehow still... well, _sort of_ a requirement. He never mentions it though, wouldn't dare. At least if she's curled up next to him he knows she's safe. She never mentions it either. It's become an unspoken rule. And it always starts out the same way, too. Initially she'll be all the way on the other side of the mattress. But inevitably without fail, she'll eventually wriggle and scoot closer, inch by inch, stopping only once she's all snuggled-up against him to her liking. Then within minutes she'll be fidgeting, tossing, turning and bumping into him, bony shoulders, elbows and all, until she _finally_ decides she's comfortable; like a cat doing a dozen circles before curling up onto a pillow. And it _of course_ has him groaning and saying her name in that tone that lets her know the balance of her account at bank-of-trying-to-sleep-Joel is about to hit zero. He'll then say something along the lines of "it's alright, I'll take the floor," but before he can even finish she'll be reaching an arm across his chest and setting him straight with a terse "you won't." And he'll just grunt in response, push out an exhale, lips flapping together, because _dammit_ this girl and her ways know him too well. Because she's right. He won't. Ever. He'd be lying though if he said the whole thing didn't _kind of_ annoy him at first. The man does like his space when it comes to sleeping after-all. Though now on the rare occasion she _does_ doze off in her own room, he can't stop worrying about her. Because that's what he does. He worries. Especially since Salt Lake, when he broke the rules and pulled a fast-one on the world. And _man_ does he know it'll get even someday...

He heads to (their?)his room, figures he's about to be greeted by the sight of some tangled mass of Ellie, auburn hair, blankets, pillows and those gentle, sleeping breaths he likes so much.

"Ellie it's noon, you - "

Nothing.

He clears is throat, eyebrow arching, then gives his neck a perplexed, thinking-type-of scratch. "The hell..." he mutters to himself.

It doesn't take long for him to look over each solid surface in the room, searching for a note scribbled with her chicken-scratch handwriting. The top of the dresser and nightstands are barren. Just as they were when he left earlier in the morning. And whether he realizes it or not, his pace quickens as he heads to the bathroom because _maybe she left a note on the mirror._ She does like to leave him messages on the mirror sometimes after taking a steaming-hot shower that leaves her looking red as a lobster. His next breath catches itself in his throat, only releasing once he sees nothing but his reflection. And _shit_ does it give him a close look at what he is. Who he's become. He doesn't like to look in the mirror often. And the second it's obvious she left no evidence behind he's quick to avert his gaze then go back downstairs.

_You never checked if her sneakers and backpack were here..._

He returns to the entryway to see only _his_ pack sitting up against the wall. And much to his dismay, his stomach sinking a bit, there isn't a pair of small, tattered sneakers either.

Brow furrowing, a thumbnail absentmindedly scratching at it, he stops and takes a breath, tries to convince himself she's _maybe_ just outside on the back porch. So he shoves open the front door with a bit more force than usual and rounds the side of the house with a hasty walk, telling himself he's going to see her sitting there, gazing into the sky lost in thought. Though when he comes to a stop, he sighs. It's long, drawn-out, full of discontent, and has him rubbing his tired eyes in hopes the absence of her form sitting in one of the chairs is nothing more than illusory detail. Nope.

He makes his way back inside, only barely able to keep his worrisome mind from sliding down a dark hole. _Relax, everything's fine. She probably just went to find Dina abd Jesse and them._

It seems to work. At least a little bit. But when he opens the front door and steps through the doorway, the heel of his boot hitting the floor, the absence of _those_ sneakers has him ruminating again. Because _no matter where she goes, she always lets me know one way or another..._

He hangs his head, rubs his brow again and huffs, resigning himself to the situation. _She's fine. She probably just forgot to leave a note. Y'all ain't on the road anymore. You're in Jackson. She's safe._

So he struts to the couch and picks up his guitar, slowly setting himself down with an exhausted sounding groan because _damn_ are his knees and quads sore from the day's work. _Christ you're gettin' old._

He brings a leg up, rests his ankle on the knee of the other, guitar in hand and plucks away at the strings. It's something from before the outbreak, just a little number he's been trying to learn to play by ear, to play for her. He did promise he'd teach her, and what better song to learn than one that will forever remind him of... them. But _goddammit_ that just seems to make things worse because now he's thinking about her again and why she left without telling him and where she could've possibly gone and all of a sudden his fingers can't seem to find the right strings to play so each note comes out like dissonant noise and _what if somethin's wrong..._

He sets the guitar down and sits in silence, each second feeling like an hour. And it's far too quiet, so his fingers start tapping some beat on his knee as he gets lost in his head, eyes blankly staring into the wall. Eventually he realizes anything but taking a nap to kill time is futile at this point. So he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he rubs his tired eyes again because he's _always_ tired. It's odd. Often he thinks he's _more_ tired now, somehow, than he was when they were on the road...

_Just nap it off. She'll probably be the one wakin' you up later when she gets home._

So he does. He lays back, brings both feet up onto the couch, crossing them at the ankles, and stares at the ceiling. It takes some time, more than he'd like, because he's not counting sheep. Not at all. He's counting something else. And it's only when he convinces himself she's sitting cross-legged on the floor up against the couch right below him, reading an issue of Savage Starlight, does he then doze off to sleep.

* * *

Rays of late-afternoon sun beam through the window, his old, worn eyes gradually peeling open. It's bright enough it has him squinting as he pulls himself up from his horizontal position on the couch. His feet hurt from the day's work. They feel swollen in his boots, legs stiff as a rod now that they've had time to settle and remain still after a day's work. And when he sits upright, an elbow on a knee as he rubs his eyes, a quiet groan reverberates from his chest. The nap helped, sure. But he thinks if the world would let him sleep for the rest of his life, he probably could.

"Ellie..." he mutters, absentmindedly, still looking at the floor as he massages out the tired sting in his eyes. "Should'a woken up me up when you got home."

When he doesn't get a response, his gut tenses, whole frame freezing save for his head lifting and eyes looking to the stairs. "Ellie!" he says, bordering on a shout.

Silence. And in a way it _hurts_. Post-nap haze be damned, because he quickly rises to his feet and heads for the entryway to see if her backpack and shoes are there.

"Dammit," he spits under a breath, that tense feeling in his gut getting even tighter at the sight of no sneakers. "What the hell time is it..."

He spins around, goes to the kitchen to check the clock on the microwave. "Oh Christ," he mutters. "Almost five." And before he can even think his next thought he's storming for the entryway, swiping up his backpack and heading outside, the door slamming shut behind him.

_Maybe she's still with Dina and Jesse grabbin' an early bite. Yeah, that's it..._

That thought seems to calm his nerves. Just enough to keep himself together as he walks the roads through town toward the mess-hall. There's a subtle swiftness and purpose in each of his steps, too. A swiftness rare for Joel Miller. But when _she's_ involved even the rarest of Miller-isms bubble to the surface. This is no different. And during each of those steps he scans the streets in all directions, looking left, right, straight ahead and sometimes turning around completely and walking backwards to make sure he examines every inch. His eyes pick through the small crowds littering the street, brain not paying an ounce of attention to the hot, summer heat that his him sweating in his jeans all over again. Each clique of Jackson residents he passes by has him thinking it'll be the one. The one when he sees that signature bob of an auburn ponytail or hears the sound of _that_ voice. Steps turn to strides. Strides become full-length, Jackson-settlement blocks. And after playing the first, painstaking twenty-minutes of 'Where's Ellie?' only to come up empty-handed, he's finally at the mess-hall, the successive failure to find her after each block swelling his level of concern in ways he hasn't felt since Utah.

_You're gonna find her in here. Everything's fine..._

He pushes open the door with way more force than necessary, the flimsy thing smacking against the interior wall as he does it. But no one seems to notice, because it's loud as _hell_ inside. It _is_ nearly dinner time, every table packed full. There's that unmistakable sound of people living and being happy, too. That sound of laughter, chatter and voices all intertwined and filling the large room to the point it borders on a mob-like clamor. And _goddamn_ does it remind him of how far removed he still is from it all, just how alone he is without her by his side. Normally, every evening for dinner, they walk through this door together. Only now it's him and only him. And _shit_ does that send a ripple through him because it reminds him exactly of what little else he has left. Reminds him of how much he _cannot_ lose her. No matter what.

He stands in the doorway, motionless, neck craning some so he can scan the room. Rear-left, rear-center, rear-right, middle-left, middle-center - _c'mon kiddo where the hell are you -_ middle-right...

"Shit," he spits under a breath, brow furrowing as he takes a few steps further inside. And _finally,_ all the way in the front, left-corner of the room he spies Jesse and Dina sitting across from one another at a table.

And what was merely an easy saunter when he entered the mess-hall, almost instantly becomes a machine-like, purpose-driven stride. His gaze glues itself to the back of Jesse's head, hands more-than-gently shoving people aside as he weaves his way through the crowd toward their table. And the way Dina suddenly stiffens-up her posture, pulls her eyes away from Jesse and locks onto him, it's clear she sees him. When he approaches, they widen, and coupled with her falling smile it's obvious she knows he's a _little_ pissed _._

"Joel," she says, loud enough for him to hear her over the crowd. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he states tersely. "You two seen Ellie?"

The question doesn't come out with enough volume to trample over the loud chatter in the mess-hall, doesn't make it to Dina's ears. So she leans forward a bit, shakes her head as if to say _I can't hear you_ and beckons him closer. Jesse notices, mid-chew of his cornbread, and turns his head to glance over a shoulder.

Joel steps up to the table, leans down and rests both hands on it next to Jesse. "You two seen Ellie!?" he says again, this time bordering on a shout so he knows they'll hear him.

And _that_ question has Jessie turning ninety-degrees to look at him, cornbread in hand, legs straddling the bench of their picnic table. He doesn't know Joel all that well yet, the two of them still finding ways to bond over patrols, the maintenance, safety and overall health of the Jackson settlement. But if there's one thing he does know, it's this man will run through a brick wall for his girl if he has to...

"Uhh..." Jesse drawls, wiping a few crumbs from his lips. Him and Dina pause for a second as they shoot each other glances, a semi-shrug shared between them, the couple carefully choosing how to respond because they know their next words better be on-point.

"Not recently," Dina finally says. "Is everything okay?"

Joel huffs. "Don't know yet," he answers. "You said recently. Reckon you saw her earlier then?"

Jesse looks up at him, meets his eyes. "Yeah, we did. It was..." he pauses, looks back at Dina again. "What? Around noon, right?"

Dina nods. "Yeah, when we got back from the pond."

"And where'd you see her?" he pries. The look he's giving them, brow furrowed, teeth clenched a bit, lets them know they better answer honestly.

Jesse clears his throat. And there's a subtle nervousness in the sound that seems to leak into his response. "The stables," he says. "Said she was gonna take Shimmer for a ride."

Joel's head droops, because that seems to _gut_ him, eyes glancing to the dirt as he winces a bit. "Shit..." he mutters under a breath. He lifts his head, looks Jesse in the eyes again. "She say where she was goin'?"

"No," Dina interjects. "She didn't. Just that she wanted to go for a ride. Is she not back yet?"

"I don't know," Joel responds through an exhale, standing up straight, a hand scratching at the back of his head. "Ain't seen her since this mornin'." And shit does he sound frustrated, but he knows these two haven't done anything wrong.

Jesse tosses his cornbread aside, the thing tumbling onto his plate, crumbs scattering across it. "You want help looking for her?" he asks.

"No, that's alright," Joel answers. "I'm sure she's fine." _No you're not, liar._ "I'll find her."

"Okay," Dina says. "Let us know if we can help."

The way she's looking at him gives him a hint these two do mean well, and perhaps he could rely on them if need be. But there's also a part of him thinking they'd just slow him down. So he simply purses his lips and returns her offer with a tepid nod. It's enough for Jesse, though, since he knows the man isn't one to be verbose. And just as he turns away...

"Joel wait!" he shouts, voice carrying over a boisterous laugh from a table further away that meshes with the chatter of the room.

Joel stops, turns halfway around.

"I nearly forgot," Jesse continues. "Tommy was doing something in Shimmer's stall while we were there. He had to have seen her before she took off."

Joel's face falls a bit, because _of course_ he's gonna have to pay a visit to his little brother. "Dammit, alright..." he says under an exhale that lets both Jesse and Dina know just how annoyed he is to hear that. And before the young couple can even get another word in, he's steamrolling his way out, not paying an ounce of attention to anything but the exit.

* * *

"Tommy!" Joel barks as he bangs on his brother's door with a fist. "Open up!"

He stops for a second, thinks he can hear the sound of footsteps from inside, waits for the door to swing open. But when it doesn't open right away he's back at it. "Tommy I know you're in there," he shouts, fist returning to the door.

"I'm comin' goddammit!" Tommy eventually yells from inside. "Hold your fuckin' horses - Jesus!"

Joel hears the deadbolt on the door slide inward as it unlocks. The door opens, but only a smidgen so as to be ajar, just a sliver. Just open enough so he can see Tommy's eyes.

"The hell is the matter with you?" Tommy says through the narrow crack.

"It's Ellie. She's missin'."

Tommy lets out a sigh. A long one, too. And _shit_ does it sound heavy. "You sure she's missin' and ain't just..." he exhales again, pausing. "You know what, look, now really ain't a good - "

But before he can even finish his sentence his older brother is pushing him and the door out of the way to step inside. And when Joel sees Tommy standing there, nearly butt-naked, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, he groans "oh Jesus," and averts his gaze, a hand rising to blind his peripheral.

"If you woulda let me fuckin' finish I was about to say now _really_ ain't a good time!" Tommy shouts in defense, blindly reaching for one of his old, dirty shirts hanging on the coat rack beside them.

Maria comes scampering downstairs, barefoot, entering the room wearing nothing but a bathrobe.

"What the hell is going on here?" she sneers, hands tying shut the front of it. And her tone sure as hell grabs the attention of the two, bickering Millers.

"It's Ellie. Joel says she's missin'," Tommy replies, hands resting on his waist. His newly donned look of flannel shirt paired with towel around the waist has him looking utterly ridiculous.

Maria steps forward, inching closer to Joel than her husband would dare to in the midst of anything involving Ellie's well-being. "Did you even try looking around before kicking our fucking door down?"

"Dammit Maria, I don't have time for this," Joel says, voice rising some as he levels her with a look that lets her know she better watch it.

"Where the fuck do you get off asshole!?" she fires back, shoving him in the shoulder, clearly unfazed.

He pauses, takes a second to tame that sick feeling that's been in his gut since waking from his nap, because he knows if there's one person he can't piss off in Jackson, it's Maria. So his voice softens a bit, but still stern, straight as an arrow. "Look, that's why I'm here. I went to Dina and Jesse first. They told me you two were at the stables when she was there."

"And?" Maria says, clearly ticked-off an intimate evening with her husband is being ruined by her rough-around-the-edges brother-in-law who, in her eyes, at this very moment is nothing more than Ellie's guard dog just _itching_ to sink its teeth into something.

"And I reckon your husband here has some idea as to where she ran off to."

"And you asked Dina and Jesse first?" she presses, skeptical.

"Yes ma'am."

There's this long pause as the three of them all stand in silence as if they're in a Mexican Standoff, the gears turning in their heads as they contemplate the next move. And _Jesus_ it feels like an eternity, because his patience is _really_ starting to wear thin, but in reality it's only a few seconds until Maria steps back and pushes out a sigh.

"Shit," she says simply.

And somehow, someway, he can just tell there's something else they're not divulging, because he's got this look on his face that Maria can only interpret as not-so-subtle _keep talkin'_. It's like the man has a sixth-sense when it comes to all-things Ellie.

"Look," she starts. "I was updating the patrol board when she came by and asked to take Shimmer for a ride."

"And when was that?"

"Around noon."

"She say anything else?"

"No, not really. She made some comment about my shirt. About how it was too hot to be wearing it or something," she explains. "For what it's worth, I told her to bring the horse back by sunset. Which means she's got another..." she pauses, leans to one side and peers past Joel, out the window, notices the beginning stages of the late-summer setting sun. "Hour and a half, maybe. There's still time. She could be on her way back right now for all we know."

"Maria," he says, a sharpness like Ellie's blade in his tone. "It's been six hours. Reckon we haven't been separated for that long since..." he stops, those deep, brown eyes of his suddenly getting lost in thoughts of _winter,_ because _shit_ does it send a shiver slinking down his spine despite the current temperature.

"Since?" Tommy pries.

Joel swallows then clears his throat, collects himself. "Never mind. It don't matter. What matters is findin' her now."

"Well you might have to wait until sunset to do that," says Maria, and her tone comes out like a mother negotiating with her toddler.

It doesn't seem to have much of an effect on the ornery Texan. It's obvious the man has a (bad?)habit of turning off the logical part of his brain when he gets even a whiff of Ellie being in any kind of distress. So he just presses his lips together, folds his arms, eyes glued to hers, and waits, because he gives her this look that somehow tells her he _knows_ there's something more.

So she sighs, rocks back onto a foot and folds her arms like his. "Okay, fine," she says, a subtle sound of defeat in her voice. "There was something else."

He doesn't say anything in response, instead opting for a glare that just says _keep goin'._ The man knows he doesn't have to say anything, because yeah, he _does_ know there's something else to it.

Maria clears her throat. "She _did_ seem kind of off."

"How off?" Joel immediately snaps.

"I - I don't know," she splutters. "I mean, I haven't seen her look like that since - "

Tommy jabs her in the arm, shoots her a look that tells her to stop. _Immediately._ Because if she doesn't and instead says too much, the guard dog in front of them will shift from dog into unstoppable, rampaging bull leaving all kinds of irreparable damage in its wake.

Joels glowers at his brother, brow furrowing again. "Now listen here, you are gonna tell me where - "

"I don't know where," Tommy plainly interrupts, hands on his hips, voice bulldozing his brother's. He glances up at the ceiling, his flannel shirt only partially buttoned-up. "I fuckin' told her this was a bad idea," he mutters under a breath before gnawing at his lower lip, eyes rolling.

And suddenly _that_ has Joel's teeth clenching. The more details he pulls out of them, the louder that whisper in the back of his head that the world is about get even with him becomes.

"I _asked_ her," Tommy finally says in defense. "I swear. I tried to get her to tell me. But she wouldn't do it."

"The hell you mean?"

"She wouldn't, and I mean _wouldn't,_ tell me where she was goin'. Girl said she just wanted to ride alone."

"Jesus boy!" Joel spits, his voice sharply rising. "And it never once crossed your damn mind to let me know this whole afternoon!?"

"She's got her own life to live goddammit! When the fuck are you gonna learn that!?"

"The hell does that mean!?"

Maria decides to simply stand aside and watch the two men argue. Let them fight it out like adolescent boys because apparently that's how the majority of their conversations have devolved into lately. It's obvious there's a boatload of unsettled baggage between them. Tommy's shared only half of it with her, if even that...

But Tommy quickly goes quiet, as does Joel, the younger one emitting nothing other than a fed-up exhale. They stare each other down, waiting for the other to make the next move. Finally, Tommy opens his mouth to speak.

"You _know_ what I mean," he says. And there's a calmness in his voice that seems to disarm his brother. "You two are gonna _have_ to move past this if you want to live normal lives."

Joel's head tilts some, teeth clenching like he's about to growl. "You have no idea what we've been through," he says. And holy _shit_ did Tommy just hear even the slightest of quavers in his big brother's voice? He might have, because it gets Maria to speak up.

"You're right," she says. "We don't. But you're not gonna know where she is _all_ the time. She needs her own space."

For some reason that has him swallowing _extra_ hard. As much as he hates to admit it, he knows the woman is right. He could win the consolation prize here and argue that it may not be now. But eventually, she'll be right. Whether it's tomorrow, next week, next year or when he's dead, that little redhead of his will need her space. She'll be alone some day...

"And you do too," she follows-up.

It's as if she just found the collar to latch around the guard dog's neck and keep it at bay, because it seems to back him down, yanks out of him nothing more than the sigh of a damaged, still-grieving man. He just brings a thumbnail to his brow for a quick scratch, eyes glancing to the floor, the man so clearly still _thinking_ his next move.

"I know it's been hard, for both of you," she says softly, laying the empathy on thick.

He exhales, all heavy and tired, eyes pulling up from the floor to meet hers again. "You could be right," he finally admits. "But right now I just need you to tell me which direction she went."

Maria huffs and tilts her head, cheeks puffing out, gives him a look of _did you even listen to anything I just said?_

"Not now Maria," he says, undeterred. "Look, don't fight me on this one, alright? I just..." he pauses, takes a second to swallow, that troubling whisper in the back of his head getting louder, louder and louder. "I got a notion that somethin's wrong. I just know it. I can feel it. I can't explain it any better than that."

He's felt "it" only two times before. Once in Utah, the other when he woke up in a freezing cold basement with stitches in his side...

Tommy and Maria look at each other, trade glances like they're speaking some silent, secret language between the two of them. Eventually Tommy pushes out a deep breath, like he's admitting defeat, and looks his brother in the eyes.

"I peeked around the edge of the barn when she left, saw the direction she was goin'," he plainly says. "Looked like she was headed east for the dam."

Joel nods, and without another nanosecond passing he's turned around and marching for the door, like he already knows _exactly_ where she went. When he reaches it, though, he stops, pushing it only half-open.

He turns his head, looks back at his brother and sister-in-law. "Right," he starts, voice a bit hesitant. "I'm ahh... I'm sorry. For interruptin' your canoodlin' and whatnot."

Maria stays silent, arms crossed, since she still is kind of pissed. But Tommy snorts, can't help but feel a smirk grow across his lips too, because at least his brother's display of remorse is a sign he's making _some_ progress when it comes to reacquainting himself with what they like to call society. Not to mention, it must be the first time in his life he's heard the man use the word "canoodling" in any context, which of course has him all kinds of amused.

"Apology accepted," he says. "Now go on, scoot. I'll drop by in the mornin' to check-in."

Joel simply makes a face and nods. He steps outside into the early-evening, summer heat, shutting the door behind him and fast-walks to the stables to get himself a horse. Any horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll hopefully have chapter three up in a week or so. It'll take however long it takes. Stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this got long. Like, really long. I don't know how, okay? It all happened so fast! Anyway, hopefully y'all won't mind. Here's chapter three. Enjoy.

Joel's horse, through its panting and wheezing, lets out a whinny. It's sharp, sudden, short and painful, a sound reflecting the exhausted state it's in. A sound he knows is the animal's way of begging him to stop, because he just about ran it into the dirt all the way from Jackson.

He's maybe thirty feet from the top of the hill. The hill he knows overlooks _that_ ranch house they visited nearly a year ago. As his horse climbs the ascent, it slows its gait, because it _has_ to. It can't keep the pace he's demanding of it any longer, especially on an incline. But he doesn't seem to notice, because whether he realizes it or not his legs are loosening their squeeze around the animal and _c'mon Ellie you better be here..._

What if she's not? What if his gamble comes up short? What if he's about to get to the top of this hill and not see her horse anywhere near the house down below?

That gets his stomach to do that uncomfortable tightening thing again. Because should it be the case, he knows he'll _really_ start to panic...

Just before he reaches the crest, heart thumping a bit harder, a drop of adrenaline hitting his bloodstream, he pulls in a deep breath. Palpable with anticipation, it sticks in his chest and holds itself there, held hostage and unwilling to release until he's scanned every inch of the property at the base of the hill. He cranes his neck and gradually dips his chin with each trot, so his line of sight will lower just enough so he can see the first sign of anything-Ellie the millisecond it comes into view. And when he and his horse emerge atop the hill, overlooking the ranch house, without even coming to a stop his eyes catch Shimmer tied-up to the porch.

"Oh thank Christ," he blurts through an exhale, finally releasing his pent-up breath. And _fuck_ does he sound relieved, muscles relaxing some, heart rate slowing, the shot of adrenaline already fading because at least he knows he came to the right place.

But there's still that nagging worry. That whisper in the back of his mind that hisses at him when he just can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. He tracked her down, sure. Only, it's been hours since she left Jackson. Lord knows what she's gotten up to...

That gets him to kick the horse into gear again. "C'mon," he commands with a click of his tongue. The tired animal lets out a neigh, reluctantly obeying as it quickens its pace.

They gallop down the hill and leap over the dilapidated fence blocking the path, the heat of the setting sun on his back. And when the horse has him merely strides away from the house, without a second thought, without even tugging on the reins to bring them to a full stop, he yanks both his feet from the stirrups and hops off the saddle. He stumbles when his boots hit the dirt, his large frame nearly tumbling over before he catches himself. Mid-stride - because he sure as hell didn't stop moving - he gets himself upright then wipes both palms on his Jeans as he goes straight for the door, not bothering to tie-up the horse to the railing.

He pushes open the door. Its hinges squeal and groan, just like it did a year ago. And deja-vu, because the moment he walks through the doorway, the memory of his first time here darts across his mind. The house still has the same smell, too. The scent of weathered fabric caked in dust. The smell of old, rotting wood that hasn't been maintained in decades. It all reminds of why he's _here._ Again.

"Ellie!" he shouts, head lifting, eyes scanning every inch of the interior he can see.

Once again he gets nothing but silence in return. And it has him making a face, lips pursing because how many goddamn times does he have to call out her name today before finally hearing a response?

He fast-walks to the stairs, notices the skeletal remains of three of the five bandits he wiped from existence a year ago.

"Ahh... god..." he mutters. It pours from his mouth as a half-grunt, half-exhale, like he's reminded of and feeling guilty for what he did in this house last Fall. Not guilty for the five lives he took. No, definitely not, because their presence meant she was in danger. But guilty for what he _said_ to her in this house. Words he said that made her wheels fall off and had her screeching to a halt like a car wreck, leaving her looking dejected and broken. Guilty because as much as he didn't want to admit it, part of him _knew_ it would crush her yet he said adios anyway. Did he really think it was going to be easy? No. Not at all. Especially after that... oh man, that _look_ she gave him when they first arrived at the dam. When she was about to peel away from him and eat a meal with Maria while he talked to Tommy. When it was clear they were about to separate for the first time in months. _Shit,_ that heart-melting look. Fuck. And the way she paused, her eyes brimming with "I'm not okay with this," and said his name in that tone that just told him how fucking at odds she was with the mere idea of being separated. Maybe she knew. Perhaps she had a sneaking suspicion he was going to dump her off. And him getting a chance to talk to Tommy alone was the first step in doing so...

He sighs upon reaching the top step, because _of course she knew you asshole, intuitive little thing reads you like one of her space books..._

"Ellie!" he shouts again. "You up here Kiddo!?"

He doesn't get a response. Not that he was expecting otherwise. The minuscule, hopeful part of him - because Joel Miller is _anything_ but hopeful - thought just maybe he was moments from hearing her call out to him. Though now he of course knows it was a farce. Because that's what hope has _always_ been. Fake. Paper-thin. Shallow. A facade. Hope nearly got them killed. He doesn't dabble in hope. He simply endures whatever shitty hand the world deals him, then plays it to his best ability. Only, he didn't expect the universe to deal him an ace like Ellie. A card that trumped all logic in his brain and the last twenty-years of his miserable existence. A card that resurrected one of the most primitive yet nuanced of human emotions. The emotion that causes people to do the most insane of things...

When he approaches the room at the end of the hall he comes to a complete. total. stop. He gulps. Both eyes pop open, enlarge to the size of a full moon, and his whole frame freezes, that sick feeling in his gut boiling-over into full-on nausea as his insides free-fall through the fucking floor.

"Oh _Jesus_ \- Ellie!" he shouts. And in seconds he sprints to her motionless body lying on the floor across the room.

He stumbles, slides, drops to both knees beside her, scanning every inch around her as he struggles to take it all in and calculate what to do next.

" _No_ ," he groans, tossing his backpack aside. "No, no, no..." It comes out deep, from the gut, and _painful_ , bordering on a primitive growl.

He swallows. Extra hard. His arms actually start to shake, because for the first time since entering his life he's not sure how to take _care_ of her. And when he catches a glimpse of blood on her wrists, coupled with her switchblade tainted with the red fluid inches away, his heart rate skyrockets, the organ beginning to pound in his chest. Every alarm in his head sounds-off at max-volume and _oh please not again_ and it's like his vision is quickly narrowing and focusing only on her lifeless perfect little face until it collapses shut and goes black and he fades away into nothing because _Jesus Christ I can't do this all over again_ and where does he go from here since losing her means losing everything but wait...

_Is she breathin'?_

He gulps again, wipes the sweat from his brow then scoops her up. "C'mere baby. I gotcha, I gotcha," he says softly, gathering her small, limp frame in his arms, like a child trying to pick up every piece of a shattered toy.

With an arm curled around the underside of her legs, the other cradling the back of her head, he pulls her in tighter and lowers an ear, until it's hovering just above her mouth.

"C'mon, give me somethin'," he says. And his voice seems to tiptoe along the line of half-command half-prayer.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and _waits._ "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he quietly pleads. "I know you're in there somewhere baby girl, _c'mon."_

And it's like god, the devil, the universe, or some higher-power is toying with him like a cat torturing a mouse, because whatever it is makes him wait until it feels like an eternity and he's ready to give up. Then it happens...

He feels her chest expand in his arms, ever so slightly, feels the warmth of her breath against his ear. "Oh thank god," he says, the words tumbling from his mouth through an exhale. A type of exhale he's been waiting to unhitch since seeing her on the floor all motionless and smashed _._

He throws his head back, eyes lost in the pattern of the ceiling as he counts his blessings that she's alive because _that was too damn close_. He takes a few minutes to catch his breath and just _hold_ her. And now that he's got her with him, at least breathing and alive in his arms, he can relax, that injection of adrenaline in his veins receding. His heart rate plummets, returns to normal, tension in his muscles easing some because now he can actually breathe without teetering on the edge of a fucking panic attack. But he knows they're not out of the woods yet...

So he sits down, careful not to jostle her too much, and scoots backward until he's resting up against the half-wall, half-bench just below the window. He gently lowers those skinny, denim-clad legs of hers, lets them fall across his lap to free an arm so he can reach over to his pack. He unzips it to fish out a rag, all awkward and inefficient as one can only do with a single hand. He digs through it blindly, shoving things aside until he thinks he feels it, then yanks it out. The ratty thing is soiled, stained with dirt, his sweat and dried blood from when he pricked himself on some barbed wire. But it'll have to do.

When he rotates her forearm so the bloodied, underside of it is staring him in the face, he swallows. Hard. Seeing Ellie bleed isn't something he's used to. And _goddamn_ does it bite into him like a shoal of ravenous piranhas.

He gently grazes her carved-up skin, brushes aside some of her blood with a thumb, revealing the lacerations left by her switchblade. "Oh... _shit_ ," he says, voice airy and shaky, bordering on disbelief.

His eyes practically wilt at the sight. And the way his mouth gradually opens, lips trembling just a tad, has him feeling some kind of strange, razor-sharp sympathy-pain of his own. Part of him can't totally fathom what he's seeing, because he can't imagine what kind of sorrow she must have been in to make her do _this_. He exhales. It's long and slow, his cheeks inflating like he's struggling to process the fact he failed _again_ at the single, most important task in his life. How could he have let this happen? What went wrong? Where and how did he slip-up? How did he not sense something was off? Why didn't she just _talk_ to him?

It's taken some time, but he now _knows_ he can tell what she's thinking. Seems to know what she needs or wants before she even does. And oh yeah, he knows she likes it too. Sure, she can read him like a book. Probably could within the first few days of being forced together in Boston over a year ago. But they know it goes both ways, so how did he not even get a whiff of what was tumbling around in that head of hers? When he woke up in the morning, his eyelids peeled open to the sight of her small self all snuggled up against him, an arm across his chest, forehead burrowed into his shoulder like everything was right in her world. Although she _did_ emit an odd, annoyed sound of discontent when he slinked away, despite appearing to fall back asleep within seconds. But still _she's_ _tough as nails and has endured more than you ever did in the first fifteen years of your damn life..._

He adjusts her and carefully lays her deadweight across his lap, a leg supporting her head, his hands quick to wrap the rag around her arm. He knots it closed and pulls it tight to prevent further blood loss. When he's done tending the wound, he scoops her up again like the motion is some sort of instinctual reaction, because holding her _is_ sort of becoming one. He looks down, sees her limp and motionless, which twists a knife into his gut because she's supposed to be _safe_ in his arms. Not... _this._ And it all has him recalling one of the few times he's actually seen her fall to pieces. She's robust, reliable, gritty, durable and strong, but not indestructible. Like him, she has her weaknesses. And while cradling her, he can't help but be reminded of the reality of it all. She's still so young. So little. So fragile. Still so... goddamn _breakable_.

Maybe he's a fool, because he thinks he can put her back together. So he raises her up a bit, lowering his brow to hers.

"Wake up Ellie," he whispers.

Nothing happens.

"Sweetheart," he whispers again, this time with more volume to the point it's hardly a whisper anymore. "C'mon Kiddo, wake up."

He waits, patiently, because he's always patient with her. Waits to feel the twitch of her eyebrows against his forehead, letting him know her eyes are fluttering open. But much to his dismay, it doesn't come.

He swallows, applies more pressure from his brow onto hers. "Wake up," he says, tone beginning to slide down a slippery slope. A slope that begins as a demand only to bottom-out as a prayer.

When he doesn't get a response he pulls away and notices the red, textured pattern imprinted on her cheek from being plastered to the carpet for hours. Then he gently, _really_ gently, gives her cheek a slap. He can't stand the thought of being the one to cause her physical harm, even if she's unconscious, so it isn't all that hard. Just hard enough so her head shifts, rolls a bit in his hand.

It doesn't work.

Another slap. "C'mon Ellie."

Again, nothing.

"Ellie, please wake up."

He gives her whole frame a jostle, shakes her ever so slightly. "Baby _please_ wake up," he says. And yeah, _now_ he's fucking begging.

He groans, emits some grief-stricken sound, both eyes closing, head falling back and resting against the wall behind him. And it's like he's out of ideas because he mouths a silent prayer to some higher power he's not sure even exists. How _could_ one exist if the world insists on inflicting so much suffering and how could it take away the only thing he can't live without and for once he's not sure of his next move because everything he's tried since waking up this morning has lead to nothing and somehow he knew this is how it was going to end and maybe it's time to throw in the towel and give up and say screw it-

"Joel..." she peeps.

His eyes snap open, go wide as golf balls, head yanking free from the wall. "Oh Christ - Ellie!" he says, bordering on a shout. But it comes out airy and bumpy, because holy _shit_ hearing her voice, no matter how soft, has him relieved as _fuck_.

She opens her eyes, all woozy, dizzy and tired, unsure of where she is. It's not until the blur in her vision clears that she sees him above her. And the way he's looking at her is something she's seen only a couple times before. It has her brain expediting the process of wiring itself back together and suddenly it's obvious she's in his _arms_ and _of course he came out here to find you_ and thank fucking god he did so she didn't wake up all alone and carved-up in a small puddle of her blood...

Their eyes meet for a moment, anchor to one another. And they'd both be liars if they said it didn't ground them, settle them down some.

"Joel, my..." she starts, voice cracking, swallowing to tame it. "My arm."

"I know baby, it's okay. I already took care of it," he instantly assures her. And hearing him say it has her nerves calling attention to the clamp-like grip of the rag wrapped around her arm. _Of course_ he's already taken care of it. Taken care of her. It's what he does. He's Joel. And _man_ is it soothing, because as long as he's here nothing is too much to handle. They can conquer the fucking world.

She starts to rise, tries to push herself up from his lap.

"Woah, c'mon now, easy," he says.

"No, I have to..." she starts, pausing with a wince to stretch and scrunch her neck. She rocks it left and right, flexes each shoulder to an ear to squeeze out the soreness from being in the same position for far too long. "I have to sit up."

He slides his arms beneath her armpits, picks her up a few inches off his lap then carefully sets her down beside him so her back is resting against the wall. He pushes himself up to a knee in front of her, a hand still gently holding her arm because he can't quite separate himself entirely.

He looks her in the eyes, catches a glimpse of her bloodied switchblade in his peripheral. "That better?" he asks, care in his voice, simultaneously sliding the blade into his back pocket as stealthily as he can do it. He can't let her see it right now. Knows it'll just remind her.

She swallows, nods. "Yeah, better," she says with another wince.

He lets out a deep breath and cups her cheeks with both hands. For some reason that tender touch coupled with the look in his eyes has hers welling up for... so many fucking reasons. Hopeless reasons that have plagued her since struggling to get out of bed this morning. But most of all because he's here _again_ when she needs him to the point it hurts.

He sees it happen, notices the glossiness in her eyes. And his seem to droop some, too, at the sight of her teetering on the edge of melting into a puddle.

"Oh baby girl," he coos.

And _that_ seems to snip the lock on the flood-gates, because now she's looking fucking _scared_ and tears are trickling over the base of her eyelids.

"Joel I don't know - I'm - I'm sorry I..." she stutters with a shake of the head, tears running down her cheeks. It doesn't take long for her to go still though, and instead let her head hang as she starts to cry.

"Hey, hey, hey..." he says softly, hands finding their way around her little form once again. "Shh, it's okay. C'mere."

He pulls her into his arms, clutches her against him. And as if on cue, once she knows she's all wrapped-up in his embrace, she goes limp, falls to pieces and _breaks_ into sobs and buries her face into his chest.

"It's okay, it's okay," he tells her, his hands rubbing her back, nose dug into her hair. "You got _nothin'_ to be sorry about."

And somehow that only has her crying _harder._ She cuts loose a wail, a hiccuping sob, tears catching in the fabric of his shirt. On the surface he thinks it's bad, that he's somehow doing this wrong. But he knows better. Knows just how to take care of her because this is actually progress. Knows this is just her, just Ellie. She's letting it out. Letting it out in a space where she can because she's safe to do so. Coming apart at the seams is something that swells within her, slowly but surely, until it reaches critical mass and has no choice but to come pouring out. Then the timer resets, starts all over again until the next one. But it's okay, because given what she's been through she's allowed it. And, yeah, probably even fucking deserves it. Regardless, no matter what, he'll always be here to catch her. He'll always be here to carefully help put her back together and on her feet.

And just as sudden as her meltdown began, it pauses, but only for a second so she can sniffle and catch her breath. Not sure exactly what to do, she obeys her _instincts_ and reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing herself into him as if any space between them is too much.

He lets her do it, lets her cling and climb all over him as if he were a tree. It's unlike her to _need_ anything, but he'd be a liar all over again if he told himself she didn't need it, need him. Because oh yeah, she needs him right now more than anything on the planet.

So they sit in silence for minutes, not saying a word. Silence interspersed with her sobs, cries, sniffles and whimpers. He knows there's nothing he needs to say. She knows there's nothing she needs to admit. What's cutting her up inside (and out) doesn't need to be acknowledged because he knows what it is. So he holds, clutches, fucking _envelops_ her in his arms like she's all he has left. To top it all off he tenderly rubs her back while rocking her, delicately swaying side-to-side just enough to remind her of exactly where she is and who's holding her _._ And hell, at this point he's ready to coddle and cosset her from here on out if it means keeping her safe, no matter how much it may piss her off.

Eventually she calms down, is able to take control her tears until they shift into nothing but choppy, hiccup-interrupted breaths. She's quiet, hardly blinking, eyes lost in the waning sunlight coming through the window. She nuzzles his chest and focuses on the feel of his arms around her, the touch of his shirt against the side of her face, the warmth of his breath against her scalp, the trancelike and subtle rock of back-and-forth he has her in. She focuses on the _smell_ of him, because _fuck_ does it center her in ways nothing else can.

She feels his arms fall from her back, go under her armpits again as he pulls away to see her face. Hers stay criss-crossed around his neck, but more as an impasse, because she refuses to let him get any further than that.

She looks up at him. He looks down at her. And he cups her cheek with a hand, the other blindly finding her wounded, torn-up arm, cradling it once he does.

He swallows, clears his throat, still can't bear to see her so... broken. "Ellie," he says. And there's this subtle quaver in his voice, though it's _just_ big enough she notices it. "Don't you ever, _ever,_ do somethin' like this again. You hear me?"

But he doesn't sound mad. No, not at all. More just... crestfallen, and concerned, and maybe even sprinkled with the dusty layer of a _plea_ like he's hurt. And that, his voice and tone, more than the words themselves, hit her in a way that gets her to nod in response, ponytail bobbing behind her. She's not sure if he's referring to disappearing on him, or what she did to herself. It doesn't really matter though. Because either way she can't stand the thought of being the one responsible for causing her rock-solid support system to crumble like that. Joel crumbling is something... fucking _terrifying._ Something she sees only in her nightmares. Something she _knows_ will leave her feeling like the ground beneath her feet just caved-in...

He cups both her cheeks again. He's got this look on his face like he wants to say something more but won't, because maybe he thinks he already spent whatever remaining capital he had left with his earlier demand. But capital be damned. He doesn't keep her waiting long.

"Don't you ever think for a second that..."

He stops, swallows again, voice quavering again.

"That you're meaningless. That you don't matter anymore. Because Christ baby girl, you do. Okay?" he continues, tone wounded as hell. Well, wounded for Joel Miller that is.

And _oh fuck_ that yanks on her tear-ducts, eyes watering again, lips pursing in a desperate attempt to hold herself together. She can't even open her mouth to speak without running the risk of another sob. So she just nods in response, lips pressed firmly shut, face twisting because she sure as hell is about to cry again. But the nod is plenty enough for him, because he knows she means it.

He pulls in a breath, looks deep into those crystal, beryl colored eyes. "I just - I can't..." he mutters, swallowing again, arms starting to shake in the slightest of ways. And _holy shit_ he actually sounds like he might not be able get the rest of it out.

"These eyes," he tells her.

Hers wilt, seem to mirror his and pierce through him. She sniffles and nods again, gives him an empathetic look like she _understands_.

He tilts his head and scans her features like he's adoring her, thumbs gently wiping away the tears on her freckled nose and face.

"And these cheeks," he croaks.

She sniffles again, reaches both hands up to latch onto his wrists. "Uh-huh," she mutters, all nasal and barely able to get it out before her lips clamp together even tighter than before. And it looks like she's about to break down and cry all over again.

"And these..." he starts, only to catch himself and stop, because he, Joel-fucking-Miller, actually sounds like he has the smallest of lumps forming in his throat.

He clears it, pushes it down, collects himself and stays quiet. But only until he unbinds his wrists from her grip and cradles both her hands in his, rubbing her dainty french-fry fingers between his worn, callused ones.

"And these... these little hands," he finally says, voice actually _cracking_.

She sniffles again, all soggy and wet. "I know," she says, a tearful peep. And another whimper breaks free from her lips, despite all her efforts to rein it in. Like it's been scratching and clawing at the surface, just waiting for the opportunity to leap out.

She reaches up, wipes both her eyes. "I just..." she begins, pausing to collect herself and _breathe_ , because she has to if she's gonna get all this out.

He gently grabs ahold of both her shoulders, massages her upper arms, a way of letting her know he's still with her, always, and waits. He simply looks her in the eyes as if to say _take your time, I ain't goin' anywhere_.

So she does, but it doesn't take all that long until it's spilling out in a nasal, clogged-up, teary-eyed flurry.

"I just had another one of those days where I woke up alone from a really fucking shitty dream and you were already gone," she explains, gestures and all and in that tone that lets him know she's annoyed as fuck with whatever it is she's trying to tell him.

He cuts loose an exhale, feeling guilty as _hell_ he let Tommy talk him into starting early...

"And then I couldn't even get myself out of bed until I don't even fucking know when then I couldn't find a clean pair of socks so I had to put back on the ones from yesterday and it was already like a gajillion degrees in the house so I was hot and sweaty as fuck before even stepping outside -"

"Ellie..."

"And food just sounded gross so I couldn't even bring myself to fucking eat anything really -"

"Ellie."

"Then I fucking got lost in my own head and thought about Boston and Pittsburgh and the first time we came to Jackson and Salt Lake then life and everything just felt pointless stupid and dumb and all I wanted to do was go for a ride on Shimmer but fucking Maria and Tommy got all up in my business and -"

"Ellie!"

She stops, looks him the eyes, pulls in a breath and wipes the base of her nose. "What?"

He purses his lips, head tilting just a tad, muscles in his face twisting like there's something he really wants to say but just can't for some reason.

" _What_?"

Then it happens. Just like that. Because suddenly without another word from either of them he leans into her and plants his lips on her cheek.

He _kisses_ her.

And he holds it for a few seconds until he _knows_ that restless, unstoppable noodle of hers realizes what's happening. It takes longer than he'd like, his stomach starting to churn a bit because he's not sure if his risky play has paid off. But it works. It works like magic. His gamble pays dividends. And suddenly he feels her skin go taught under his lips, both her eyebrows rising as her whole face lights up in delight.

And the only reason it _did_ take her longer to respond than he'd like was because _everything_ in her head came to a screeching halt as if she'd just run straight into a fucking wall. Because man does it feel different, but also good, wonderful and _new_.

"Oh..." she eventually chirps, voice airy and light as a feather. "Oh my god. Holy shit."

He pulls away, looking almost too proud of himself, can't help but feel a smirk grow across his lips because she's _beaming,_ shining like the sun _._ And _goddamn_ seeing her come back to life like that is the greatest thing he's seen since... hell, he doesn't even know when.

She just stares at him, blinking, stunned, unsure of what to say. So she simply repeats herself. "Oh - oh my _god,_ " she says through the earliest stages of a laugh, eyes wide, lost in his.

There's this pause as he watches her think and decide what to say next. But it's not long until she fully uncorks that wet, teary-eyed laugh, the _biggest_ of smiles taking shape on her lips, her hands rising in a clumsy attempt to cover it.

"You kissed me," she admits through her chuckles, finally able to think through the butterflies in her gut. And there's this thick layer of joy baked into her tone that has his smirk growing into a full smile.

"You... you _kissed_ me!" she shouts. "You fucking kissed me!"

He just smiles at her, gives her a look like he knew _exactly_ what she needed all along.

" _Joel!_ " she shouts, voice all high-pitched and semi-shellshocked. "I - you - why - " she splutters, unable to find the words.

So she pulls in another breath, sniffles, and wipes away the newly forming tears in her eyes only to repeat it _again._

"I mean... _you_ kissed me!"

It's as if saying it out loud is some way of proving to herself that yeah, _that_ really did just happen. She's blushing too, red in the face with heat. And she shoots him this look that says she _needs_ him to do it one more time to convince her this is real and not some dream of hers.

"And?" he says.

"Aaaand..." she drawls, tone going higher. "Maybe... I'm still upset? And you should do it again?"

Bold little thing she is.

He snorts, shakes his head. "Yes. You are _clearly_ still very upset and need another one," he says. "Fine."

But the subtle smile on his face tells her he can't be all that unhappy about it. Besides, like he'd even dare say no. So he obliges. He leans in again, this time to the other side and gives the opposite cheek a kiss. And _man_ does it have both of them grinning like fools; her feeling that affectionate peck once more, him feeling her dimples form beneath his lips all over again.

For some reason she starts laughing, can't help it. It's deep, genuine and from her belly. A laugh so good she can hardly remember why she's sitting on the floor with a rag tightly wrapped around her bloodied arm. But when he pulls away looking perplexed, she knows she better collect herself. So she does, and lets the final laugh trail-off at the end with an exhale.

"Yes?" she then asks, sounding quite impish.

"Somethin' funny?"

"Uhh yeah," she bluntly states. Then she grins, like a damn clown. "You. You big ol' sap."

His smile falls, eyes narrowing a bit. But he's still smirking because seeing _Ellie_ again, seeing her all silly, giggly, smiling and happy has him more than content. So he just lets out a grunt, "uh-huh," and pivots around her legs to sit down beside her.

"Uh-huh what?" she asks, eyes tracing his every every move.

He pulls in a breath, lowers himself down. "Reckon that'll be the last one of those you'll ever get from me," he says through a groan as he settles next to her, back resting against the wall.

"Oh _fuck_ you - you wouldn't dare," she says. And there's a subtle hint of worry in her tone that _maybe_ he meant it.

How cruel would that be if he never did it again? To give her a morsel of affection, so she _finally_ gets to feel what that's like, only to deny it henceforth?

His tone _was_ a little playful, but not nearly enough for her to betray the threat itself. So she scoots and wriggles up against him, wraps both arms around the crook of his and rests her head against his shoulder. Another way of saying _you better be fucking with me..._

He smirks, cuts loose a soft, airy chuckle before tucking his chin to press his lips into her hair. "Sorry, who were you callin' a sap again?" he says, the words muffled against her scalp.

"Ugh," she snorts, not bothering to even glance upward, opting instead to nestle into him some more. "You're the fucking worst."

"I know. I'm awful."

"Uh-huh, you really are."

"Mmhmm," he says, giving her scalp a peck. And she _smiles_.

"But... I do kinda like you," she tells him. And the way she's tightening the grip around his arm and rubbing her cheek on his shoulder lets him know there's something a hell of a lot deeper than a mere, frivolous "like."

He pulls in deep breath, closes both eyes, mouth still pressed into her hair, and can't help but feel so fucking relieved to finally have her safe and sound next to him once again.

"Reckon I kinda like you too Kiddo," he mumbles into her scalp. Yet, the brush of his lips against her reddish strands say far more than anything else could, because he kisses her _again_.

She emits a sound, just a little peep, a satisfied "hmpf," that tells him he's at least doing something right.

"Alright, c'mon now. We gotta get some food in that belly of yours and get you to the H.C.," he says, tapping her leg with a finger.

When he starts to push himself off the floor she tugs on his arm and yanks him down, refusing to let him get away _that_ easy.

"I'm not ready yet," she says.

"Ellie..."

"What? C'mon, just sit with me for a while."

"You've got a damn bloodied arm and we gotta get it looked at. Reckon you're gonna need stitches for it too."

She just snorts. "Whatever. I've had worse," she says.

And man does that carve him up, because sadly, he knows it's true. So he sighs, resigns himself to her request since she is sort of right. But he's not about to give in _entirely_...

"Fine. But when we get back, I'm takin' you to the H.C. to get it looked at."

She groans, "ugh," throws her head back. "Why? You can sew me up, right?"

He huffs. "Ellie..." he says, in that familiar tone she knows means his patience is wearing thin. "Will you just do it?"

She turns her head, looks up at him, doesn't say a word. Instead choosing to narrow her eyes as some half-playful, half-serious expression engulfs her face.

He sighs, looking quite irritated, which is of course half the fun. And she knows he can't be all that upset, because if he were he would've scooped her up and carried her downstairs to the horses already even if she were kicking and screaming.

"If not for you, then at least do it for me?" he asks.

And _that_ suddenly has that smile of hers forming across her lips again, her eyes un-narrowing. Because _fuck_ does that mean something to her, though she's not exactly sure what.

"Fine," she answers.

Then he watches her smile go from something pure to something impish. It's obvious there's something more.

"But only if you say please."

He rolls his eyes, lets out a grunt. "Ahh..."

"Joel..."

He sees her smiling up at him with that grin and little button of her nose. And if this is what it will take to get her to agree to his terms, then so be it. Besides, he's not _totally_ oblivious to why she wants to avoid the health center. A hospital means doctors, needles, weird machines she's never seen before and people asking too many questions they have no business in asking. And he'll have to be extra-kinds of careful about it, too. He'll have to get Maria and Tommy involved so they can see a doctor they can trust, given their... situation.

So he takes in a breath, looks her in the eyes again. "Please baby girl?" he asks. And his voice comes out deep and raspy, but also smooth like velvet and _sincere._

Her face flushes, though she does her best to drown it. There's something about those two words and the _way_ he says them that makes her dizzy. Sometimes she thinks he could get her to do anything if he prefaced whatever his request may be with that term of endearment.

And he sure as hell seems to notice the involuntary reaction, given that stupid "I'm-just-too-good" smirk forming across his face.

So she jabs him in the side with an elbow, the bony thing stabbing him below the ribs. "Oh shut up," she says. "But I'm _very_ upset about it."

"Yes, of course," he drawls with a series of slow nods.

She sniffles, reaches a hand up to wipe her nose. "So I guess I must smell pretty bad if you were that eager to get away from me."

He presses his lips and nose into her hair again, sucks in a deep breath, taking in her scent. And holy _shit_ does it fill him with a sense of calm nothing else can even come close to replicating.

"Like a steamy, hot pile of horse shit," he informs her.

"Oh-ho, good one," she fires-back in that sarcastic, sparring tone of hers.

Then there's this pause as she feels him still plastered to the top of her head, her hair all pressed against his lips, nose and beard. But it only takes a couple seconds before she can't help herself. Before she can't restrain her next thought any longer and lets it tumble free from the confines of her mouth.

"Whatever. You _like_ the way I smell." And there's a bluntness to it that tells him she _knows_ it's the truth.

He doesn't pull away. Instead he acquiesces in it, opts to just let out a small, semi-displeased grunt, the sound dissipating into her scalp. Because, well... yeah. She's right. _Of course_ he does. Somehow, someway, even now after not showering for multiple days while her skin is covered in some filthy mixture of dirt, blood and sweat, she doesn't reek. It's the opposite in fact. In the weirdest of ways she still smells _good._ Because she always does. To him, she just smells like... Ellie. It's earthy, _real_ , but also fresh at the same time, like the pine trees throughout the Jackson area. It's gentle, not overpowering. And there's a sweetness to it, too. A saccharine sweetness he can only describe as the scent of cake batter. Like one of those Betty Crocker cake mixes he used to buy at his local H-E-B pre-outbreak.

So he sighs. A sign of defeat. That point goes to her. "You couldn't stink if you tried," he tells her. "Now me on the other hand..."

"Oh you're not _that_ bad."

He snorts. "Oh, not _that_ bad huh?"

"Well, no. That's not what I meant. I mean, sure after you've been working outside all day you have a uhh..."

"Careful now," he warns, a thin sheet of jest topping his tone.

"A musk," she says. But the way it comes out tells him she's more than okay with it.

"That a fact?"

"Yeah but..." she says, pausing, like she's not sure if she wants to admit whatever's still lurking on her tongue.

He waits. Doesn't say a word. Knows she'll crack before he does. And what a dick, because he _is_ right.

"I... you know, I like it," she says, a bit sheepish, face scrunching. "I just call it Joel-smell."

For the first time all day he actually _laughs_. And _god_ does she always feel fucking proud of herself when she can yank out anything even resembling a chuckle from the man.

He's quick to collect himself though, clearing his throat. "So it has a name huh?" he asks.

"Well..." she starts. "Yeah, of course. Though I guess it's not a very creative one."

 _Of course._ Like it's something she's familiar with and experienced so many times it deserves a name at this point.

And she distinctly remembers the first time she realized it was something comforting. Something she could latch onto. They had just crossed the Pennsylvania-Ohio border earlier that day. It was still summer, humid as fuck, and hours before finding a place to sleep they had to sprint for their lives from a pack of infected. Which of course had them both sweaty and gross as hell. Eventually they found a hardware store with a small, office-like room all the way in the back. The whole place smelled like wood, iron, oil and grease, but when she dozed off to sleep with him next to her his scent seemed to intertwine itself with everything else. And in the weirdest of ways she found comfort in waking up in it just as she had falling asleep in it. Though it wasn't until Iowa she sort of gave it a name, at least she thinks so anyway...

Regardless, as if he's gonna poke-fun at her for it.

"Whatever you say Kiddo," he says. Though his tone doesn't do a good job of masking how adorable he thinks her and her ways, the entire "Ellie ensemble", truly are, no matter how much he tries to hide it. So adorable his head might fucking explode...

They sit in silence for a bit. His eyes are closed, head tilted back and against the wall behind them. He's relaxed, resting, all the anxiety, adrenaline and tension within him from earlier completely gone now that he's got her next to him.

Her eyes are open with a blank stare, her temple planted on his shoulder, feeling way more comfortable up against him than she'd ever admit. Both of them are lost in the memories of _this_ room. Eventually her mind finds itself in a strange space, because this room _is_ where something happened. So she shifts against him, looks up and opens her mouth to speak.

"How'd you know I'd be here?" she asks.

He lets loose the smallest of airy chuckles, both of his eyes still closed. "I have my ways," he answers. And there's a part of her that wants to smack him for that stupid, ambiguous answer. But in a way she thinks he _knew_ where she was all along. And, well... yeah, he sort of did. Because he's Joel. He knows her inside-and-out.

"I did actually have to ask Jesse and Dina first," he eventually mumbles, eyes shut.

"Oh _no_..." she groans, throwing her head back. " _Please_ tell me you weren't too hard on them."

He snorts, gently shakes his head, the quarter-round trim piece on the wall behind him massaging his neck as he does it. "Nah, they were alright," he says. "Reckon it was Tommy and Maria that got the worst of it."

She cringes, _really_ scrunches her face. "Shit," she spits, because _fuck I was supposed to bring Shimmer back by Sunset._ And yeah, there's a big part of her that feels extra bad for them now that she knows Joel got involved.

"It's okay," he assures her. "There's no way they're gonna be upset with you after what I did."

She lifts herself off the wall, lets go of the crook of his arm and turns ninety-degrees to face him and sit crossed-legged. The movement peels his eyes open, and he looks at her, sees her looking all small and dainty-like.

"How the hell can you sit like that?" he asks her.

"I dunno," she answers with a shrug. "Feels natural to me."

He snorts. "Reckon my goddamn hips would fall off if I tried to do that."

"Well, you _are_ old," she chides.

"Easy..."

She heeds the warning, knowing she shouldn't touch that one. Especially considering it always gets her thinking about the fact that someday, he won't be here while she still will be. So she lets it go, clears her throat. And there's another short stretch of silence as one of her hands begins fiddling with the other's fingers, because she _is_ a bit hesitant to ask what's now bouncing around in her head.

"So..." she begins.

"Hmm?"

"Do I want to know what you did to Tommy and Maria?" she finally asks.

He chuckles again, his large frame inflating when he eventually pulls in a breath.

"Well," he says. "They were uhh..." he pauses, tries to think of exactly how he'd like to word it. "I arrived at a very inopportune time. I'll leave it at that." And he's giving her a look that he fucking _hopes_ will get his point across without having to say another word.

But looks be damned, because "oh my god!" she blurts, perking up, a mischievous grin on her face. "Were they about to fuck!?"

"Ellie..."

"What!?" she says in defense, tone rising. "I'm just calling it like it is."

He rubs his brow, sighs. "Yes, they..." he pauses again, scratches at his beard, struggles to find the right words. "Let's just say they were about to have intimate relations."

She bursts into spitting, snorting laughs, can't help herself. "Oh man," she manages to say. "That's fucking hilarious. Tommy must have been pissed."

He makes a face like she's totally right and nods. "Reckon they both wanted to put a bullet up my ass."

Then he too starts to snicker, uncorks a couple of deep, raspy chuckles.

"Tommy, he ahh..." he starts again, looking up at the ceiling. "He was wearin' nothin' but a towel around his waist and one of his shirts only partly buttoned-up. And he..." he stops, starts to laugh a bit harder, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "He didn't even get the buttons in the right holes," he tells her. He can barely finish without chuckling through it.

She breaks into spits and snorts all over again. Ellie laughing. God does he love that sound.

"Boy looked like he just escaped the loony-bin or somethin'," he says.

Eventually the moment ends, their combined laughter coming to a stop. And he lets his head fall, turns it to one side to look at her. He's actually... _smiling._ Whether she knows it or not, _that_ gets her to smile too, because each time he does is another sign her science project of "Get Joel to Open Up" is succeeding. But she's not _quite_ finished yet. After all, she did tell Tommy and Maria to keep quiet about her whereabouts, though she can't entirely blame them knowing her over-protective Texan got involved.

"What did they say? How'd you figure it out?"

He pulls in a deep breath. "Tommy said he saw you headin' east, toward the dam," he says. "Figured you were comin' here. So I went and grabbed a horse."

"Aww," she says, shooting him the _sweetest_ of looks. " _You_ were worried about me."

He simply grunts, eyes narrowing some. "A little bit," he eventually admits. Another point for her.

And the fact she got him to admit it in even the slightest of ways lets her know that yeah, he must have been _really_ fucking concerned.

Then there's this bout of silence as they look at each other. It must be a tad special, because her face is flushing with a bit of heat again since she's tickled he came all the way out here to find her. Leave it to him to kill it though...

"C'mon Kiddo," he says, rising to his feet now that she's no longer anchoring him to floor with those slender arms. "Let's get you home."

She sniffles, nods and looks around the room like she's still thinking of something else to say. Because there _is_ something else she wants to say. The course of humanity was literally altered because of something she said to him in this room a year ago. But she can't quite settle on the words, so instead she just looks up at him and answers, "okay."

They head downstairs, her first then him. Part of him thinks if he doesn't keep her in sight he'll turn around only to see her collapsed on the floor unconscious again. Though when she steps through the doorway and onto the porch, she comes to a stop.

"Uhh Joel," she says. "Where the hell is your horse?"

"Ahh shit," he says, huffing as he steps beside her. "I forgot to tie him up. Looks like he ran off. Maria's gonna be real pissed at me now."

"Aww," she coos as she looks up at him. "You really _were_ worried about me. Couldn't even take a second to tie-up your horse."

He cuts loose a long, slow exhale. Can't help but feel too tired to keep parrying this girl's pokes and prods. He might as well give up now, since it's obvious she's in one of those moods where she tries to get under his skin and annoy the hell out of him. And they always end the same way, him in defeat, effectively giving-in, because it's not that he's actually annoyed. No, never. He knows it's just her way of inching closer and closer to him, until she's burrowed so deep within him he can't fathom her absence...

"Yeah," he finally admits. "I was. Reckon you took a few years off my life."

She senses his surrender and latches onto his arm again, gives it a gentle tug, a non-verbal cue to _look_ at her. He does.

"I'm sorry," she tells him, looking into his eyes. "I didn't want you to worry, I promise. I had everything under control until..."

"I know," he says, rescuing her from going down that hole again. "Just... from now on, will you at least let me know where you're goin'?"

"Yeah, okay," she answers with a nod.

And maybe now he owes her a freebie, an honest answer to whatever she asks. So she looks at the ground, at her dust-covered sneakers, flip-flopping just exactly how she wants to word it, thought it isn't all that complicated.

"By the way," he says, breaking her train of thought as he reaches into his back pocket. "Think this is yours."

He hands her the switchblade. It's stained with her blood, but he thinks he's escorted her far enough away from whatever dark hole she fell into that she'll be okay if she sees it. And she seems to be. Mostly, anyway.

She pauses for a second to look at it, traces her dried blood on its handle with her eyes.

"Thank you," she eventually says with another nod. It's simple, unlike her and anything but nuanced since she's still wrestling with something in her head. It catches him off guard a bit, but _man_ does she sound sincere.

So he mounts shimmer, settling himself in the saddle. He glances up the hill, sees the waning twilight, then looks down at her from the horse, presenting a hand to help pull her up. And when she mindlessly shuffles forward, still lost in thought, he speaks.

"You want to drive us home?" he asks. "I can take passenger."

 _That_ gets her attention.

"Are you serious?" she responds, a hint of disbelief in her voice because she knows this is a big fucking step for him.

He doesn't respond, simply extends his hand out a bit further, as if to say _c'mon, I gotcha._

She reaches for it, places her small one in its palm as he helps hoist her into the saddle. She gets herself comfortable, sitting in front of him, safely encased by his larger frame, an arm of his on either side of her. And _don't you fucking dare let him know how much you like this, but_ _why didn't you think of this before?_

It takes a few seconds for her to get her posture right, since this is quite different. And he's not even instructing her on how to hold the reins or stick her feet in the stirrups, because he knows she doesn't need it. What she needs is for him to just be... there and provide support. So he simply waits. Patiently. Like he always does for her.

But for some reason she can't totally relax, her bony shoulders and back stiff as a board. So before she gives Shimmer the go-ahead, she clears her throat, turns her head just enough to practically speak into the protective barrier surrounding her that is his frame.

"Joel?" she asks in that tone of hers that he _knows_ means something is on her mind.

"Go on," he says, like he knew it was coming all along.

She pulls in a deep breath, then finally says it. "When you said you were gonna dump me off onto Tommy... what changed your mind?"

She feels him take a long, deep breath of his own, the gentle touch of his chest expanding against her back as he inhales. It takes far longer than she'd like, but eventually he responds.

"You know why," he tells her in that deep, smooth drawl of his.

He can't see it, but her face falls a bit at his answer, a small frown forming, because she does still think he owes her a freebie. But to hell with his cagey ways, so she tries again. And this time with much more precision. She's been wondering for a while now, ever since they returned to Jackson, if, how and when he was going to say that one, weighted word...

"Did it have anything to do with the uhh... you know, the big... 'L' word?" she pries, a bit hesitant and timid, a delicate smirk usurping the frown on her lips.

He chuckles at her chosen vernacular, but is quick to rein it in since he knows she's _deadly_ serious. And she feels him shift behind her, feels both his hands find their way to her waist, a subtle and supportive _don't worry,_ _I'm here._

Finally, he responds.

"See, told you," he says. "You do know why."

And just like that she's smiling again and relaxing into him _beautifully,_ taking a second to relish the pair of steady hands providing that gentle support she's come to _more_ than like.

He kisses her one more time, on the scalp, just above her ponytail. "You good?" he asks, the question muffled against her hair.

She nods, grinning, beaming like a shooting-star. "Yeah, I'm good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was really hard to write. Emotionally at times it was difficult, sure. But it was more technically challenging than anything else. This might actually be the most difficult piece I've written yet. There's a lot going on here. And I wanted to do my absolute best to keep them in character, yet also show how their influence on the other is slowly but surely helping them grow. In fact, this was so difficult, there was a huge chunk I couldn't write for a whole day until my brain finally settled on what I felt like was the best route to take. I probably slipped up and could've done much better in some parts, but hey, I tried.
> 
> Also, the entire Fall chapter in Part I has to be one of my favorite sequences in the entire series. It's just so good. There are multiple things, subtly intertwined, going on in it between these two. And the whole time you just get the sense they're (especially Joel) slipping down this slope of realizing how attached to one another they've become. Ellie obviously realizes it first. Like that moment at the beginning when they part ways for the first time at the dam, when she's about to go eat with Maria. That one part had me hooked from then-on-out the first time I played it. I mean, the way she looks at Joel and says his name is just... ahh. It's so good. Not to mention, that entire scene where shit finally gets real between them in the ranch house is absolutely perfect. It's such a pivotal moment that LITERALLY changes the course of humanity, and frankly, is the only reason a Part II even exists if you think about it. And it's Joel finally coming to realize that no matter how hard he he's tried to fight it, he's starting to love this little girl and can't stand the thought of her being "more scared." Also, immediately after he changes his mind, when she climbs back on his horse and shoots him that look... ugh. It literally melted my heart. I loved it so much.
> 
> Anyway, I've always wanted to do something that revisits the events of the Fall chapter. It's just... I knew it was going to be a delicate, challenging feat and was too intimidated to do so. So, finally, here is my shot at it. Hopefully some of y'all enjoyed it.
> 
> On another note, I listened to my Country playlist a few days ago and all I have to say is... uh oh. Because now I have all sorts of new ideas tumbling around in my head. And for some reason, there's something about good ol' Country music that just always reminds me of these two. So... what I'm trying to say is, someone help me, because I think I have a problem...
> 
> But seriously, once work eases up a bit I'll probably have another installment in the series. But for now I need to recharge my creative batteries. Because, again, this one chapter took a lot out of me.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


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